


Home should be a safe place

by SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight



Series: They Go Together. [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Canon Divergent, Ciri is a sweet heart, Ciri is safe, Depression, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Found Family, Geralt of Rivia uses his words, Geraskier, Good Father Vesemir, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Good grandfather Vesemir, How Do I Tag, How the fluff get here, I'll add more tags as i go, I'm Sorry, I've been watching to much Law and Order SVU and its affecting me, Im trying to write a creep and he won't behave go figure, Inconsistant Updates, Jaskier is a sweet man and I always hurt him, Jaskier is in trouble, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Murder, My unyeilding and consistant apologies, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Please Don't Hate Me, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Self harm has many forms yall, Somone please just hug the princess and her bard, Suicidal Thoughts, This was completely self indulgent, Triss and Jaskier become friends, Triss and vesemir are the only ones acting like adults, Why do i always hurt them?, Yall almost didn't get that smut at the end., Yen is worried but wont say it, body worship? ish, don't worry i figured it out though, emberassing pre sex talk, expliicit sexual assult, first time post trauma, mentions of self harm, no one knows how to use words, not always, not consensual anything in chapter 4, or are they?, seriously it almost didnt happen, soft everyone, their so tender i can't, things are looking up, you also almost didnt get a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 49,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight/pseuds/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight
Summary: They make it to the Keep unscathed. Only, home isn't as safe as Geralt thought it would be and he has to make some hard choices. Ciri is still having nightmares, but is a natural with a blade. Jaskier gets himself into trouble, which should be hard to do in the middle of an abandon keep. And when it is all said and done only Vesemir can see how to help put the pieces together again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: They Go Together. [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624777
Comments: 168
Kudos: 374
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. A long winter awaits

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously people do not hate me. I am sorry. This first chapter isn't so rough, but this story will likely be more explicit than the earlier ones. 
> 
> That said if your reading this as part of the series and just popping in because you need to know what happens, I’ll let you know that the chapters has the material and how I’ll be marking it. I know similar stuff was in of Harpies and Flowers but it was not as explicit as this will be. :/ 
> 
> I needed a villain and didn't want to use a pre-existing character, so you can hate my oc. Probably Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert will be out of character. I've only seen the tv show and the information on their characters personalities are so limited on the internet. I'm hoping to read the books soon!

GERALT 

They aren't alone at the keep. Vesemir is there as expected and there are a few others as well. Eskel eyes Geralt and then sends Lambert to get Vesemir. When they return Vesemir raises an eyebrow inquisitively at him. Of course he does. His leg is noticeably worse to Jaskier and to Ciri so it’s not at all surprising that Vesemir can tell to, not to mention he can probably smell the decay. 

“Ghoul bite?”

He nods, 

“Yeah.” 

“Let’s tend to it then you can tell me. Eskel, will you get those two settled.” 

He nods curtly. Geralt follows Vesemir from the main hall. He can hear the introductions between Eskel and Jaskier and Ciri. Eventually they make their way to a room with which Geralt is all too familiar. 

“Let's have a look then.” Vesemir says already gathering ingredients. The shelves and tables are filled with apothecary and alchemical substances. Geralt removes his boots and trousers and sits in one of the available chairs waiting. He removes the bandages from the bite and grimaces. Even through the course of the last day it's gotten significantly worse. His nose wrinkles without his permission. Vesemir sighs,

“How long ago did it happen?”

Geralt thinks for a moment, doing math in his head.

“About 16 days ago, roughly.” Vesemir raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Visenna.” Geralt supplies.

“I see, well then talk about it Geralt. Keeping it bottled up for the sake of appearance rarely does us good.” 

He inhales through his nose and does as he’s told. He tells Vesemir about everything since their last meeting. Well almost everything, he leaves out his relationship with Jaskier, but he doesn't quite understand why he does it. He isn’t ashamed of Jaskier, or the nature of their relationship. He should be seeking approval. Instead, he thinks back to the time Vesemir had told him getting attached was dangerous, and wonders if he’ll be angry. Vesemir listens quietly working on the wound. It will take some time to heal, but it isn’t so badly damaged that it will leave permanent damage. A nasty scar, probably, but no lasting damage. Finally the wound is redressed and Vesemir sets about cleaning their mess. 

“It seems you’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation. Still coming here was perhaps the best decision you could have made. The girl will need to learn to defend herself, and you are probably correct about her magic. I don’t particularly care for the idea but we may need to enlist a mage or two.” Vesemir looks him in the eyes. “ But why bring the storyteller to stay the entire winter?”

He meets his teacher's gaze, “ Ciri specifically requested he come, and… he and I are involved. He goes where I go, it’s always been that way.” 

“At least you’re honest. Just don’t forget he’s mortal.”

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” 

Vesemir nodded again and offered Geralt his hand. His help isn’t necessary, but it's familiar, fatherly. 

“Ciri doesn’t know yet, so if this can be between us for now, it would be appreciated.”

“Of course.” A fond smile crosses the older man's face and he continues while they walk, “ How long have you two been involved?” 

He scowls, thinking. His face scrunches up. “ We've been travel companions for decades on and off. But partners, just over a year, I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t pay particular attention to time anymore, it’s all the same.” 

“You have me there.” 

When they return to the main hall, Geralt isn’t surprised that Eskel and Lambert among a couple others have taken a liking to Jaskier. He has a tendency to draw people to him in one way or another, like moths to a flame. Ciri is still weak, the Pneumonia hasn’t gone away completely yet, but Visennas drought has worked wonders. The room is dry and warm from the massive fire burning in it. She’s curled into Jaskeirs' side protectively, his arm slung around her likely without a conscious thought. The two have known each other one full week and they get along swimmingly. He dotes on her the way a father should dote on his daughter, and worries the same too. The bard is affectionate with her in a way he himself isn’t sure how to be. Geralt watches her yawn barely covering her mouth with the back of her hand and snuggling closer to Jaskier. She almost looks like a kitten needing attention. Jaskier absently strokes her hair and he finds himself smiling fondly. Jaskier looks up then and locks eyes with him. His lips are still moving and so is his hand. There is acknowledgment and relief in the depths of his eyes, and Geralt gets lost for a moment reading it. 

They join the others at the table and Geralt sits on the other side of Ciri. She smiles sleepily at him but forces her eyes to stay open. He really should take her to bed, but he's hungry and the food smells good. He can carry her, so if she falls asleep at the table it isn’t the end of the world. He and Vesemir serve themselves. It’s bear, vegetables and bread with ale. He tunes into the conversation as he eats, Eskel is telling stories about their “childhood” escapades. He groans, Eskel grins. The latter man winks at Ciri and says,  
“Remind me to tell you about the Bumblebee.” She giggles and Jaskier smiles down at her. 

JASKIER 

The conversations turn to darker topics. The Nilfgaardians and their conquest, The fall of Cintra, The battle at Sodden Hill, among other things, he’s grateful that Cirilla is asleep nuzzled into his side. His arm is around her just as much for comfort as it is to keep her from sliding off the bench. The Witcher’s are trading stories and as interested as he is, he’s exhausted. The sun had set some time ago and the room was lit only by the fire and a few candles. He sips cautiously at the ale in front of him. He is uncomfortable, not a pleasant but common feeling for all his facades. People are asking about the rumor suggesting that Geralt had gone on a dragon hunt and he can’t think of anything but the anger that had grabbed hold of his friend that day. Geralt is speaking and Jaskier makes eye contact with him. 

The Witcher finishes his statement,  
“It wasn’t a hunt really. More I was sequestered by a gold dragon to protect a dragon egg. But that’s a story for a different night.” He stands taking Ciri from Jaskier with a swift and gentle movement. Jaskier snorts.

“Geralt she’s not a rag doll.” 

“ I know, come on.” He says as he adjusts his hold on Ciri who momentarily wakes and incoherently mumbles something about being warm before curling further into Geralt's chest. Jaskier catches up and walks beside him as they leave the hall. Neither notice the mixture of sad, content fondness on Vesemir's face, or the curiosity and other mixed emotions on the others. 

Finally they reach the room that’s been deemed hers. Jaskier had recalled Eskels directions from earlier clearly. They wake her long enough to get her to change and take her medicine and then they put her to bed with gentle words. Jaskier hums her back to sleep, it doesn’t take long, and kisses her forehead and then they stop in the hallway. There is a static prickling the air between them, and neither knows what's shifted today. They haven’t spoken about it. They still haven't told Ciri about them, and Jaskier is fighting the voice in the back of his head which is saying that Geralt probably doesn’t want the others to know about them. He watches Geralt as his face shifts, obviously thinking. Geralt breaks the tension.

“I imagine Eskel commandeered you your own room.”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you want your own room?”  
“Do you want me to have my own room?” It comes out sad, bitter on his tongue.  
Geralt stares at him with that look that says “You're an absolute imbecile.” He opens his mouth to say something and finds his lips claimed, his back pushed against the wall and hands on his hips. Instinctively he kisses back. He whimpers into the kiss when Geralt bites at his lower lip. He opens his mouth out of habit and want. He can feel his lover flush against him. He buries his hands in long white locks. Eventually he pulls back and rests his forehead against Geralt's shoulder. He grins and breathes in deeply. Lately it’s been quick kisses and stolen glances. Neither sure how to breach the topic with Ciri. It’s not like it’s unheard of, it was less common in the south though, and she's trying to adjust to so much already. Plus she was unconscious for most of the trip, and they just haven't had a chance, or good timing to tell her. It’s all been secretive. This is secret too, just them in a dark corridor lit by the occasional torch, but it’s different. This is a stolen moment, a precious one. Geralt steps back and takes his hand. Jaskiers' room is to the right of Cirilla’s and Geralts is down the hall. 

“We ought to clear this up between us now.” 

“For once a brilliant idea. Do you plan on using words, or am I going to have to get out my thesaurus and translation guide?” It’s said with venom born of hurt. 

The quip is low, he knows it. But even after that kiss he’s not in a good mood. His insecurities poke and prod at his mind, at his heart. Geralt growls low in his throat and turns to face him. There is a tug on his hand and he looks down. Geralt runs a finger over the ring he's wearing, the copper and gold glinting dimly in the torchlight. Then he’s being pulled forward again. He doesn’t say anything else. They retrieve his pack and make their way up toward Geralt's room. 

“What about Ciri, if she has a nightmare, I won't be in my room.” 

“I’ll listen for her.” 

“Alright.” 

Jaskiers things are set on the far side of the room by the empty bed. When the school had been full and still teaching, the students had bunked to save space. Once his packs are dropped, he's pulled in the direction of the other bed. They sit side by side facing one another. 

“What’s bothering you?” Geralt asks, and the look on his face is that rare gentle concern, his eyes knowing. He clenches his jaw and unclenches it, fingers tapping out a rhythm. 

“They can’t hear us down here, if you're concerned about that. If we were still in the main hall, probably, but not down here. Our senses are good, but not that good.”  
He swallows, this is just Geralt. 

“Where do we stand at this moment? We haven’t told Ciri about us yet, and I don’t know if you want everyone here to know. I don’t know what the boundaries are. I don’t know what you are comfortable with. And I’m worried that if you don’t want everyone to know just yet that I won't be able to make it to spring on stolen kisses and secret embraces. They are wonderful things, the thrill of almost being caught, but still, Geralt, you aren’t particularly known for being open about your feelings and your emotions when other humans can see... and I have not idea what that looks like with other witchers.”

He sighs, it’s frustrating. It prickles at the back of his eyes, and makes his shoulders stiff. He’s watching the bigger man. He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his hands. Geralt leans forward and takes his right hand and threads their fingers together. 

“I told Vesemir.” Geralt says simply, like it answers all of Jaskier concerns. And in a way it does make some of the ice recede. “He’s basically my father. That counts as something. Doesn’t it?” Jaskier smiles softly, it's a fond smile. He nods not trusting his voice. Geralt tilts his head and watches him for a moment. 

“I think for Ciri’s benefit we need to tell her first, privately. Then I don’t care who knows that we are a coupling, or that I’m bedding you or that I plan to until...” He trails off, he doesn’t have to say it allowed, they both know he means until Jaskier dies. There is still doubt in Jaskier, but the way Geralt talks about it, makes him less concerned. It eases some of the tension from him. 

“And you’re not worried about what they’ll think about us both being men? What are the rules for that anyways among you lot?” 

Geralt laughs softly into the top of his head and says,  
“When you live as long as we do, you stop caring. Love is love, sex is sex, pleasure is pleasure. The anatomy doesn’t really matter as much.” 

He turns then, and kisses Geralt, he pulls away with a smirk.

“Speaking of pleasure.”

He tugs at the witchers shirt. Geralt smiles wider and pulls it over his head. Jaskier is left reeling a moment later when his witcher pulls away abruptly and goes rigid. He pouts. 

“Company.”

Geralt whispers against his ear. He lets out a low groan and huffs. Geralt is looking at him with mirth in his amber eyes. He grumbles and stands kicking his shoes off. He saunters purposefully back to his side of the room. He removes his shirt while making eye contact, and then his pants before putting himself to bed. Geralt shakes his head at him and blows the candle out. A few minutes later Geralt slides into the bed beside him. 

CIRI

When she wakes, it’s to an unfamiliar room. She sits up and panics. She feels better but she’s confused. She had another nightmare. She pushes herself out of bed. The room is dark save for the dim early morning light coming through the window. Carefully she pads to the door. She knows that Jaskier is next door and that Geralt isn’t too far away either. She opens it slowly and looks up and down the dark corridor there is no light seeping in from outside. She steps into it, and goes to Jaskiers door. She knocks but there isn’t an answer, she pushes it open but the room is empty. Her lip trembles, but she doesn't cry. She blinks back her tears. She tiptoes out of the room, afraid of waking people. 

“Are you lost?” A voice asks out of the darkness. She whirls around quickly but her eyes can’t make out any figures. The voice is completely disembodied. She hears the scrapping of boots on stone and steps back. She can’t remember which way leads to Geralt. 

“Don’t be frightened, little kitten.” She swallows, her mouth has gone dry. The only light source is a torch behind her. 

“I’m not lost.” She says with as much force as she can muster. “I’m not scared either.” She squares her shoulders and her jaw. Tries to mimic her Grandmother. 

“If not lost, then why not in bed?”

“I wanted to speak to Jaskier.” It’s a lie. She was scared. Now she’s completely awake and still scared. She wills her heart to slow, for her breathing to be quieter. It doesn't work, she can taste fear on her tongue.

“ I see, and did you?” The voice is silky smooth, to peaceful in the darkness. The hair on the back of her neck and on her arms stands on end. She wants to run.

“Geralt, your little cubs gotten lost.” The voice says, closer now. Still to smooth, dripping with sweetness. She doesn’t turn her back to the voice but she takes several steps backwards. Her back collides with solid warmth and she instinctively relaxes. Geralt wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

“So, she has Ninrin.” His voice is low and dangerous in Ciri’s ears.

“You should be careful kitten. This keeps a big place. It can be dangerous.” 

“She needs to be careful of nothing,” Geralt growls low in his throat, “ The only ones here that need to be careful are the ones who stalk in the shadows.” 

With that she's being pulled close to Geralt and led down the hallway. When they enter his room, Jaskier is sitting up. 

“Hey Cirill-” She lunges at him. He falls back into the bed. 

“Another nightmare?” She nods. 

“Can I sleep with you guys?” There's silence for a moment, and then he sighs against her head. 

“Both of us?” She nodded, “You two always share a bed.” She isn’t stupid, she knows that they are like her grandmothers adviser. He had a husband not a wife. “ You two are like… Like my parents. You love one another.” 

”You already know then?” She nods again trying to burrow closer to him. Goose flesh still on her skin. 

“Okay, but just this once.” He and Geralt push the beds together. It doesn’t take long but it’s louder than they mean to be. They make up the bed and she crawls into the middle. She feels safe here, curled between Geralt who is safety, strength, and protection and Jaskier who is peace, love, and gentleness. She falls back asleep to the sound of a Jaskiers gentle lullabies and the steady beating of Geralt's heart.


	2. The party begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceon joins the crew. Ciri try's to learn the lute. Yennefer and Triss join the party... Mentions of playing Peek-A-Boo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue and fluff, and a little descriptive angst. This is all primarily boring introduction stuff that we all hate but is necessary to the plot. Don't hate me. All hell breaks loose in the next chapter. Also I wrote the next couple chapters before this one because that's what I really wanted to write. 
> 
> Not beta read. It's 6 AM and I haven't slept yet, so even though I proof read it, it's likely got some errors. If you see 'em let me know! 
> 
> Comments are encouragement, so feel free to drop one if you like any part of this story.

JASKIER  
He wakes up with Ciri resting completely on top of him. He is lying as close to Geralt as he can. He looks over to see he’s being watched, and smiles. The three of them are a tangle of limbs. Ciri’s head on his chest her legs across Geralt and he and Geralt's legs tangled together. He smiles sleepily. 

At breakfast Ciri is talking animatedly and eating large bites of food. It’s good to see her bouncing back so fast. Eskel is indulging her. They are becoming quite quick friends, though he wonders how much of that is just Eskel being kind. But Ciri seems to have that effect on many of them. The main door on the Great hall opens and a cloaked figure steps in. Another witcher to stay the winter he thinks. That makes six of them. It won’t be as boring as he was starting to think it might get cooped up in this decaying place.

“Ceon!” Lambert says in greeting approaching the newest member of the party. Jaskier turns his attention back to Ciri but catches Geralt and Vesemir stepping out of the room in the corner of his vision. He makes a note to ask what that's about later and tunes back into the story. Ciri is telling Eskel about how she and Geralt met. He smiles and takes notes in his notebook open to the side. It’ll make a great ballad. The Lion and the Wolf or something, he’ll make it for her as a gift. He is proud of her. So very proud of her. Lambert and Ceon join them at the table and introductions are made again. 

“Ceon, this is Princess Cirilla, Geralt's child surprise and his bard Jaksier.” Eskel says starting them off.  
“Seems like he’s kept himself busy.” Ceon responds with a smile. 

“Indeed.” Lambert says lazily. 

“Well, we’ve all been preoccupied this last year it seems.” Ninrin says joining them at the table. Ciri stills beside him. Jaskier gives her a curious look and then continues the conversation.  
She takes another bite of her food and pushes it away. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m his bard per say. I mean that makes it sound like I'm property, which, I am not.”

“Oh no. You just like his brooding silence so much you’ve been hanging around him for years.” Lambert retorts sharply. 

“Ahh well it’s good for business.” Jaskier smiles. “People like hearing about their nightmares being dealt with.” They’re rejoined by the other two.

“It’s good to see you Ceon.” Vesemir says sitting beside the man, and Geralt nods at him sitting next to Ciri on the other side. He smiles when she curls into his side, and without question Geralt puts an arm around her. It makes him a little jealous if he’s honest, the freedom with which she can so openly be affectionate. But mostly, it just makes him happy. Eventually the others disperse around them to do their own thing. Ciri doesn’t leave Geralt's side. Shen clings to him more than she has before. He keeps his voice gentle and asks,  
“Ciri, is everything alright? You seem upset.” He watches her look to Geralt who looks at her and then to Jaskier. 

“Later.” The witcher says. He tilts his head with narrowed eyes and lets it go. 

“Shall we do something?”

“I need to find a way to contact Yennefer.”

“Oh. Right, yes t-to train Ciri with magic?” He stutters despite himself.

“Yes.” He swallows down the insecurity that comes with any mention of Yennefer. Geralt pauses and then continues.  
“Do...Are.." A growl, "Fuck. I could try Triss instead.” 

“No, I mean whoever you think would be better. I trust your judgment.” -I trust you.- Geralt holds eye contact with him. 

“Ciri, have you ever considered learning to play a lute?” She beams up at him and he smiles at her. His troubadour mask back in place. 

“Are you going to teach me?” Excitement laces her voice. 

“Do you want to learn?” He smirks at Geralt mischief in his eyes. 

“I think it could be...fun.” 

Geralt stares at him with disbelief. Then his face grows hard. Jaskier doesn’t turn he knows that look. It’s not for him. It’s for whoever is behind him. Absently he puts a hand on Ciris shoulder and steers her near the fire. When he looks around casually he notices that Geralt and Ninrin are locked in a staring contest across the hall. He looks between them and returns his focus to Ciri. She is the only thing he needs to focus on right at the moment. 

She is not a natural with music. He smiles regardless. They are having fun. She flushes embarrassed when she plays something wrong. His lute is a touch big for her, but she can learn the chords while he strums or vice versa. So that's what they do. 

GERALT 

They’ve moved back into what would have been Jaskiers room. Ciri is asleep next door. 

“So, will you tell me what’s going on?” Jaskier asks gently in the dark.

Geralt hums beside him, they’re wrapped up together, Jaskiers head on his chest in the dark. 

“Ninrin, has gotten into trouble... He was accused of some very disturbing things and has taken refuge here until they can be proven or he is cleared of the accusations. Last night when Ciri had her nightmare, he was in the hall. I don’t know what his intent was but it frightened her. I’d rather they not be alone.” He turns his head to the side and places a kiss to Jaskiers forehead. 

“That explains why she seemed startled earlier.”

“Mmm”

“What kind of things Geralt?” Jaskier shifts to look up towards his face. It won’t do much good with the moon blocked out by the snowstorm.

“Murder. Not self defense from a bunch of attacking towns people, but preying upon someone with the intent to kill. He was accused of rape, and torture as well.” He can feel Jaskiers heart beat faster, disgust radiating off him. 

“Ciri is safe with the others though?” 

“Yes. I have no doubt about that.” 

“Good. That's alright then. She seems to have taken a liking to Eskel and Ceon today.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised by that.”

“She was initially frightened of Eskel when she saw him, but once they started talking she  
seemed to get past it quickly enough.” 

“His scar?”

“Mmhmm” The bard yawns next to him. 

“Go to sleep Jask.” 

He manages to contact both Triss and Yennefer and they come to the keep together. He has been there a week with Jaskier and Ciri. After some discussion it's decided that Triss and Yen will take turns teaching Ciri various materials. They both stick around for a while to determine what those materials will be and so they can get to know Ciri before they begin to teach her. It's all an awkward mess. Ciri is shy at first but comes out of her shell quick enough. She is grateful for the familiarity of the women's company. It's a nice change of pace from beign surrounded by a bunch of witchers even if sorceresses are strange by their own right. He is pulled out of his brooding more than once by Ciris persistent, “What's wrong?” that he refuses to answer, and Jaskier is trying to put on a show of not being bothered by Yens presence. He succeeds mostly. In fact, he is making a point of speaking with her in a civil manner and she is returning the sentiment. Jaskier gets along well with Triss, which surprises him. It will be a long winter.  
After a few weeks they settle into a rhythm. 

Ciri trains with Geralt before breakfast, with Eskel after breakfast, Vesemir after lunch, Lambert when he feels like being involved, and Yen or Triss in the evening. The goal is to teach her everything they can. The topics range from how to use a sword, to monster hunting, alchemy, herbology, magic, and sometimes still music or other arts that Jaskier insist a princess be taught. Though Ciri has given up on the lute, maybe she'll try a different instrument later on. In turn she has picked up on how to wield a blade quickly. It’s impressive how confident she has grown with it. She is still learning her forms, but Geralt thinks she will be ready for some light sparing in a week or two more. He catches Ninrin watching her and Jaskier more than once and gives him a low warning on more than one occasion. It seems to do the job. 

“We’re both witchers, but I’ve never liked you. Until everything is settled and you are proven innocent, stay away from them.” He says it lightly, chooses his words to be clear but not threatening. Vesemir is mediating, they don’t need to come to blows in the middle of the day. Not today of all days, they have collectively chosen this day to be a free day. 

“Nin,” Vesemir begins when he’s finished, “Understand that your reputation is damaged at the moment. Things this winter aren't how they normally are. Just keep your head down, be involved but don’t scare the girl again. It was uncalled for the first time and there will be consequences if it happens again.” 

Nin rolls his eyes but shrugs, “I can do that.” The three of them stand there for a while before Ninrin declares that he's going to go hunting. 

Not two days later Geralt finds him pressing a nervous Jaskier for details regarding some of their adventures. Details about them, anything really. He squares his shoulders and takes three steps into the hall. Ciri has convinced everyone else to play a game of hide and seek in the keep and he hadn’t been able to hear where Ninrin was in comparison to Ciri. And when he couldn’t hear Jaskier either, he had gone looking. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. His presence is enough to warrant a change in topics. Similar events happen every couple of days. 

Ciri is in a bath down the hall, and the others are working in the armory, hunting, or tending the stables. Yen has gone for more supplies with Triss. He and Jaskier take full advantage of it. They haven’t had a chance to be together since arriving and it’s all pent up. They've shared stolen kisses and touches but nothing more. He isn’t as gentle as he probably should be but based on the noise Jaskier is making he doesn't mind. When they’ve finished and redressed in case Ciri needs them, Jaskier leans against him. 

“Geralt,” He starts licking his lips, “Thank you for always showing up. He makes me uncomfortable.”  
He looks down at Jaskier and tightens his grip to show he’s listening. There had been another incident today. Ciri had been writing a list of herbs and their properties and Jaskier had been composing across the room. They were in the room currently storing the apothecary supplies that Yen brings back periodically, and Ninrin had stood in the doorway watching. Thinking. It had made Jaskier and Ciri both uncomfortable and Jaskier had done a marvelous job of keeping the air light, and had actually gotten Nin to walk to the main hall with him. Jaskeir continues,  
“He looks at me like I’m not quite human, like the way you look at the monsters you're going to slay…. Like the animals you hunt. And the way he looks at Ciri, I trust that even less. I don't know what his issue is. He's... “ He trails off. 

“Predatory?” 

“Yes.”  
He growls. It’s been a solid month since they arrived and he thought things had smoothed out. Apparently not. Jaskier changes the subject sensing his distaste and likely knowing it is taking all of his discipline not to deal with the problem right now.

“Ciri is doing really well. She seems to enjoy herself.” 

“She is doing excellent. She’ll start sparing with me tomorrow.” He smiles, she really is a fast learner and not at all inept with a sword. Maybe he should try and convince Jaskier to learn again. 

“You’ll start out gentle with her right? You won’t go overboard.” 

“I’m not going to go breaking her bones if that's what you mean. She can’t learn if she doesn’t know what to expect though.”

“Yes, fine, I know that. I just mean, you won’t push her too hard too fast?” 

“I'll only let her take what she can handle." They lapse into a comfortable silence until he notices Jaskier playing with his ring. He threads their left hands together to stop him. 

“Dandelion?”

“Yes?”

“What's wrong?” He sighs it against the smaller man's hair. 

“Nothing really. I was just thinking, I’m grateful that You, me and Yen are getting along. I was worried, you know, that maybe with her around so much…” The bard trails off, and he doesn't know what to say, so he pulls him closer and kisses the top of his head.


	3. A day in the life of princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter completely from Ciri's pov. This is an average day for her, before all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally all the craziness I have planned for this story was going to start in this chapter, but by mutual agreement, it was decided that we ( myself included) needed something soft after that terrible transition, and before the storm hits. 
> 
> If you're still reading this story I thank you! 
> 
> Also if you have never read Harmonious Bosh it's a fun read. It's a children's story so it's nice and sweet. 
> 
> Comments fuel me to keep going so if you feel inclined please leave one behind.

CIRI

It’s not home. It's drafty and it’s full of men. She’s learning what each of them is like. And in turn they are learning what she is like. It’s a bit better now that Yennefer and Triss have joined them, but with so much going on, after their initial stay they’ve been coming and going, taking turns. Their presence isn’t constant but it is appreciated even enjoyed. She bonds with all of them in very different ways. 

Some mornings she wakes up nestled between or spread out across Geralt and Jaskier. She pretends to be asleep those mornings, so she can stay there longer. This moment reminds her of home. When she was little she had done the same to her Grandparents. She thinks Geralt knows that she is awake, but he never says anything. Of course, like all good things, it ends to soon and she is drawn into the realm of the waking for the day. She returns to her room and dresses in her day clothes. Sometimes, she will ask Jaskier to braid her hair for her. He always indulges. Geralt usually jabs at him for this is a quiet kind of way, like now.

“Jask, you don’t always have to do everything she asks. She's capable of doing it herself.” His voice is sleep rough and a touch exasperated, but wholly fond. 

“She can do it herself Geralt. But, it isn’t a trouble for me to do it. Besides, she's a young lady, she should be dotted on, on occasion. She’s a princess, and Melitele knows the lot of you won’t be so gentle with her.” Jaskier says even as he walks over to Geralt and gives him a peck on the lips. Maybe this place isn’t home. But these two, they are quickly taking up residence in her heart. She smiles warmly at them. 

It’s become routine that before breakfast she and Geralt stretch and he teaches her new defensive stances. She thinks she’s catching on quickly. And she absolutely beams when Geralt smiles at her proud. Every so often he tries to knock her over, which he can do easily when she isn't prepared or her stance is bad, but this morning she holds fast, her stance strong. She wants him to look at her with that smile, those eyes everyday because they mean she is doing good. She craves validation. He try's a couple more times before breakfast to knock her off balance, she sways but she doesn't fall. 

“You are a quick learner.” It’s as close to praise as she will get from him and she knows it. She takes it for what it is below the surface. As they make their way to the dining table she feels him give her shoulder a squeeze and looks up at him with a grin. It's a reassuring thing, an unspoken gesture of approval. She doesn’t notice, hungry eyes watching them. She’s wrapped in warmth from the man she has started to call father in her mind, still too timid to try and say it out loud. 

After breakfast usually Eskel teaches her about weapons, and how to hold them. He teaches her which weapons are best used on which monsters. He shows her the different ways each weapon can be used and how to care for them. Sometimes Lambert will join them but he’s usually disinterested. That’s fine, she prefers Eskels presence. He has been kind to her since she got here, and even though he looks gruff he reminds her of Moussack. He doesn't pull out any stops when it comes to anything, but he doesn’t speak to her with condescendence. He’s not better than her, just more experienced and in the position to show her what to do and how to do it. She gets frustrated sometimes, it's usually punctuated with a harsh intake of breath. He stops during those times, tells her to take a walk around the armory and recite what she knows. Then he starts over on whatever topic they are covering. He is more willing to praise her when she remembers something correctly, like a proud uncle. And he makes a point of telling Geralt and Jskier at lunch, just how good she is at remembering the details. She always smiles down into her food embarrassed. 

Between Eskels lessons and lunch is usually some free time. More often than not she is learning a new story from Jaskier, trying at the lute, or playing games with Ceon. She is hungry for knowledge. Today shes teaching Ceon to play knucklebones. Jaskier is playing to and is the current winner. Ceon isn’t very good at it, but it doesn’t matter because he tries. She thinks given enough practice he might just become very good at it. Of all of the people here he is the one who takes Jaskiers side and treats her according to her age. With all the war and death and chaos around her, getting a chance to laugh because these two are willing to play a game with her makes all the difference. She knows it and they know it too. Sometimes the others will join, including Ninrin, who still makes her uncomfortable. When he does, she sits between Ceon and Jaskier or whoever else is there. 

Vesemir teaches her actual combat. He makes her use everything she has learned from Geralt and Eskel in the morning to try and spar with him. Sometimes it’s a hand to hand combat situation, sometimes with a blade. He is infinitely patient with her. He doesn’t get angry when she can’t do something but finds a different way to perform the same task. She is much smaller than him and most of the enemies she might encounter right now.  
Today she wipes her brow with the back of her hand. The sword is heavy and she is having trouble lifting it to meet his blows. His attacks don’t come as fast as she knows they could, but they aren't slow either. The blades are blunted but they still hurt. She steps back out of his reach for the third time. He stops and sizes her up.  
“It’s too heavy isn’t it?”  
She nod’s.  
“Set it down, rest your arms for a moment and get a drink.” She obeys. Geralt is hunting today so he isn’t watching like he normally is and somehow that makes it easier to admit that she's tired and sore. Someone else is watching her though from the table where the water jug is. She hurries her steps, but can’t avoid getting a drink, which means talking to him.  
He pours the glass for her and she manages a weak “Thank you.” 

“Of course, Princess.” A sly smile is on his face, he seems amused. “You look exhausted.”  
“Maybe a little tired. But I want to learn.” She agrees and finishes her water. Goose flesh rises on her skin despite the heat of the fire, and the exertion of swordplay. She all but runs back to Vesemir. He looks up from where he had been examining a different blade. 

“Try this one. You need to be comfortable with the weapon you are using. And while ultimately we want you to be able to use any weapon available it’s always good to have one you excel at. The last one was both too big, and too heavy for you. “ He hands her a rapier instead of a broadsword. It’s long and thin, and she can hold it easier. 

“Better?”  
“Yes.” 

She returns to her former stance and they begin again. She does her best. She has avoided making anyone angry and she wants to continue to do that. She doesn’t know how they will react, how Vesemir will react if she messes up. She grits her teeth when her arms grow heavy again and her back grows sore. She won’t complain, she thinks that might upset him. 

After dinner she meets with Triss or Yennefer. Tonight it’s Yennefer. Ciri thinks Yennefer is the most beautiful woman she has seen. Her eyes are captivating and her hair is like black silk. She wants to touch it but she doesn't dare. Absently she wonders if it would look nice in a braid. Her thoughts wander. She has trouble staying focused on all the theory behind what chaos is and how to use it, how it’s part of her. She understands it, but she often finds her mind wandering. With Triss it’s much more hands on. She can feel the plants and the dirt and smell them. It makes them easier to remember. Tonight she’s supposed to be staring into Yens eyes and telling her something about herself. Instead she thinks about why Geralt is so tense when she's around, and why Jaskier gets nervous and sullen. She frowns. She doesn’t like when they get like that. It only happens with Yennefer is here so it has to do with her. She can’t quite form the connection. She’s pulled from her musings by a soft laugh. 

“ Your distracted tonight arn't you." Her voice is full of amusement and Ciri relaxes. "It's alright. I understand why. Oh, those idiots, they haven’t told you how we know one another yet?” Ciri flushes bright red in equal parts shame and embarrassment. She shakes her head because she doesn’t trust her voice. They’re sitting in the library that's still somehow intact. It’s a good distance from everyone. 

“Do you want me to tell you?” Yen says leaning forward conspiratorially. Like it's a huge secret. Like they are partners and not student and teacher.

“Won’t Geralt get mad.” She asks, uncertain. 

“Maybe, but you deserve to know don’t you think.” She thinks about it, plays with her braid and then nods. 

“I want to know.” She confirms. Yen smiles at her. It’s intense and she has to look away. Everything about Yen is intense. Sometimes it reminds her of her Grandmother. Yennefer is strong and unrelenting. Like an inferno that has no boundaries. She listens intently to the story about the Djin, about how she had saved Jaskier, and how she and Geralt had been bound by a wish, and spent time romantically involved. Ciri was pretty sure there were details left out, likely because of her age and she laughed because Grandpa Eist always made innuendos, so she wasn’t unfamiliar. 

“What happened? Am I allowed to ask that?” Yen considers her like she's a puzzle that she hasn’t figured out yet. 

“When I found out that he’d made the wish, I got angry and left. Besides, I think I knew even then, that he and Jaskier were in love. That’s not to say that I didn't or don't also love Geralt." She sighs, "It's admittedly a little hard to tell after the wish and our fates being bound." 

She hums in understanding. 

“They should grow up. I mean you seem okay with them being together. I don’t understand why they get so, so…” She searches for a word, “Sulky? Uncomfortable?”

“Insecurities and emotions are fickle and make us do strange things. Those two, well it took them 20 years to tell each other that they are in love.” She laughs through a smile that shows her teeth. 

“I didn’t know that. They’ve been together that long?” 

“They have.” Yennefer says standing. “Why don’t we call it a night.” Neither notice the shadow lurking in the corner.

At night, They both see her tucked in. before Jaskier can sing her to sleep, as has become both habit and custom she blurts out,  
“I think you both need to talk to Yen. I’m tired of watching you brood,” she shifts her gaze to Geralt and then to Jaskier, “And you sulk.” 

“Uhm... “ Jaskier blinks down at her as he straightens his back. 

“Hmmm.” Geralt looks away from her, arms crossed.

“I’m just saying we are all of us stuck together all winter. It would be nice if we could be in the same space without you two being so stoic and quiet and ridiculous the whole time.” Then she shimmies back under her blankets and waits expectantly. Jaskier smiles at her and sighs, 

“And once again I find I am reprimanded by a child. What shall I sing you Cirilla?” His voice is only amusement, his eyes serious and contemplative as they watch her.  
She’s thoughtful for a moment. 

“Will you tell me a story instead?” She watches him grin. 

“Alright I suppose.” 

He thinks about it and tells her about one Harmonious Bosh. A story from his own childhood. She notices as he speaks that Gearlt goes stiff by the door, all of his focus on it, she and Jaskier forgotten. Jaskiers voice washes over her like a calming wave and her eyes drift shut. She isn’t sure what it is but something has her frightened even as she slips into sleep.


	4. It's cold, but I'm colder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier, didn't get himself into trouble. He didn't actively seek it out. Instead it had a way of finding him, especially when all he wanted to do was compose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deserve to be murdered. Okay, no. But yelled at probably. 
> 
> Onward, these three emojis mark the beginning and end of the explicit rape/non-con material. 💔😡😭 
> 
> I'm not caught up with my buffer material, but I couldn't not post this chapter. 
> 
> PS. You can find me on tumblr @Sennextheassasinking. I mostly just reblog stuff I like. Currently it's Witcher related. But I like the idea of prompts.... 
> 
> PSS if you are reading this independent of the series, it might get confusing further on... but you don't have to read the series to understand... I may just really suggest it. ( Yes, I do shamelessly plug my own work.)

The training room is big. Outside the snow is too deep for them to train in the courtyard now, so they train inside. Jaskier strums idly at his lute. It’s been six weeks and he is bored out of his mind. There were a couple incidents early on but everything has settled for now. The songs he had started composing before arriving are all finished. He’s working on some new ones but nothing seems to be coming to him. He needs a change of pace. 

“Geralt, not that I at all mind watching the lot of you throw each other around, but I’m getting awfully bored. I need some new inspiration, the same walls and crumbling stones just aren't cutting it anymore.” 

“You could join Ciri in learning to protect yourself.” His Witcher Deadpans.

“Oh no.. No thank you. I have you for that, which is a good thing. After all that has never worked well. Besides after what happened last time your tried to teach me, I hardly think that’s a good idea out here –” 

“Hmm, and you plan to do what exactly?” His Witcher interrupts quickly, cutting him off. He smirks playfully meeting his strong gaze.

“I’m going to go on a walk. It’s fairly warm today. I won’t go too far. And you don’t have to worry about me getting lost out there because I’ll just follow my footprints back.” He smiles confidently at his Witcher. He can see Geralt thinking this through 

“You don’t want me to come with you?” 

“I always want you to come with me.” He smirks wiggling his eyebrows and watches Geralt take a measured drink from his cup. “ But, no, I just need a change of pace and scene.” 

They both watch as Ciri moves through the motions of a new pattern with her training sword. Vesemir is nodding his approval. She is confident with the weapon, and capable. Eskel is sitting in the corner working through another blade from the remains of the armory. They’ve been sharpening and checking each to see what is and isn’t usable. Maintenance. Lambert, Ceon, and Ninrin are scattered around the keep doing whatever they please, or whatever they’ve been told to do by Vesemir. Yennefer is setting up a lesson for Ciri in the alchemy room and Triss has left to attend something elsewhere. 

He hears Geralt exhale and looks down at the other man. 

“Don’t go far, and be back before the sun goes down.”  
“Anything else?”  
“No.”  
“Nothing?”  
“Be safe?” Geralt looks so confused Jaskier laughs and takes pity on him.  
“I love you too, idiot.” A brief kiss and then Jaskier is off with his notebooks. It’s too cold to bother taking his lute, it won't stay in tune outside. He dresses warmly, a thick doublet over an equally thick chemise. He wears his travel cloak and thick stockings. It may be warmer today but it isn’t warm enough. The snow isn’t melting but the sun is shining brightly and the sky is an infinite sea of blue broken by only the thinnest wisps of cloud. He steps outside the keep and smiles. He picks a direction at random and begins traipsing through the snow. It comes to his knees in spots. He sets a determined pace and continues into the woods. The trees are snow capped, and frosted to look silver. 

It’s only mid morning when he reaches a clearing with very little snow in it. The trees are tall here and they’ve kept the snow from covering the majority of the ground. He kicks the snow off his boots against a tree and steps into the small place. Remnants of autumn still cling to the bushes, some still have a few leaves in varying colors of brown and orange. He strides to the middle and does a slow spin taking it all in. It’s perfect. He puts his back to a tree and takes a drink from his water skin. He simply listens to the forest sounds around him for a while. THe birds are singing, and squirrels chirp irritably, and then sets to work. 

The air is damp, and so is the ground beneath him. He removes his notebook, and a worn down pencil. He fumbles it at first. It’s too cold to take his gloves off to write properly. His nose runs a little from it, but he pays it no mind as he hums working out the next line. The song has two stanzas already but it needs a chorus, something to come back too. He looks up and tracks the little bit of sunlight he can see. It’s early afternoon and he has a while yet before he needs to start back. 

“The sun is setting  
A new dawn beginning,  
I’m still smiling,  
I’m still singing”

This one's for him, it's personal, and not for anyone else to hear. 

“Your words like silver did bite  
They cleaved my heart in two  
But underneath the moonlight  
You made it alright?” 

“No… ugh, no…. That doesn’t fit… “ He rubs at his face. And writes out some alternatives.  
‘ everything was alright, you spoke anew, our stories made new, you made everything alright…” He trails off abruptly pulling his pencil away from the paper when a sultry voice from behind him says, 

“I never thought he’d leave his little songbird alone.” He closes his notebook, the pencil marking the page, with an audible slap of paper against itself. It’s terrible, he knows, on the binding but he does it anyways. 

“Ah, Ninrin, what brings you all the way out here?”  
The dark haired Witcher doesn’t move from behind him, to his left. 

“Oh, I was out hunting and heard a little morning dove cooing.” His tone is light, conversational.

“Ah, I apologize. I had no intention of ruining your hunt.” He feigns nonchalance. 

“On the contrary, you’ve done no such thing. You’ve just given me a different focus.” Here the other man moves into the clearing.

Jaskier stands, something about this one isn’t right. He stays calm despite his discomfort. Some part of him wants to run like hell back to the keep. The logical part of him whispers that he can’t outrun this man. He puts his notebook in his pack without much thought.

“Even if I haven’t I think I ought to be getting back. It’s getting late.”

He takes a couple steps before his path is quickly blocked by what amounts to a wall of muscles. Ninrin is built just as well as any of them. His hair is short. He's clean shaven, his eyes while gold are slanted and narrow. His nose, just a little to big. His arms to, look unproportionate, to long. His shoulders are broad and he stands as tall as Geralt. 

“Come now, it’s not that late. Stay, talk with me awhile.” Ninrin holds his hands up, as though he’s trying to prove he isn’t a threat. “Please?” 

“Maybe some other time. I told Geralt I’d be back by mid afternoon.” He says with a confident smile. Ninrin doesn’t know if he’s lying or not and he is pretty sure his heart isn’t giving him away at the moment, it’s already out of rhythm. 

“I don’t think he’ll mind if you're a little late. I mean the witch is there. What’s her name, Yennefer? Weren't they involved for a time? I know he has you to warm his bed right now, but I imagine he must miss the feeling of a woman, and her conversation. Hum.” 

Jaskier swallows. This man knows how to get to him. Is he that easy to read? He can’t hide the emotion Ninrins words cause to erupt in him, it’s like some magic has given voice to his insecurities. He looks at the ground. He steals himself. He tries to make his face impassive. It’s a cheap imitation of Geralt. 

“If Geralt wants to be with Yennefer that’s his business. He’s a good man and I’ve no doubt he’d simply end our affair before beginning a new one with her.” He says it with as much belief as he can muster. He doesn’t know, but he hopes Geralt would do so. His hands shake. 

“ You really think so? You aren’t worried he didn’t come with you precisely so he could use your absence to his advantage?” 

“ He wouldn’t.” His breath hitches. He sniffs against the cold biting at his nose. The temperature suddenly decreasing. 

“You don’t sound so certain little lark.” He steps back when an unwanted hand brushes his cheek. When had he gotten so close?

Ninrin is smiling at him with too white teeth and something predatory in his darkening eyes. He takes an involuntary step backwards. 

“I find myself wondering why he picked you, of all the possible people on this continent. You’re handsome enough, I can give him that. You’ve got a pretty little mouth too. A talented tongue. I’m sure it has more uses than just singing.” 

Okay, yes this is bad. He tries not to panic. It doesn’t work. All he can think of is last time. He steps back again, casting his eyes about for an escape. How does one escape from a Witcher twice ones size, skilled, and mutated to kill monsters of various shapes and sizes?

“But surely there must be more?” The mutant continues. 

“ I think you’ve quite crossed a line.” He keeps his voice stern. This is an act. 

“Have I. Curiosity is such a corruptible trait. It’s just… I must know,” Jaskiers back hits the tree he'd been sitting against not minutes earlier and he’s pinned between it and the Witcher. His bag on the ground, forgotten. The mutant's nose inches from his, he takes a deep shuddering breath.  
“Is it your taste, your smell? What draws him to you? What makes him want a mortal? A bard no less? Your personality is grating so it can’t possibly be that. You’re far too cheerful for his stoic self. You're going to die inevitably, and you're very fragile. So why you?”

“You sound jealous.” He knows how to make people angry, anger makes people stupid and right now that is all he has. So he gives it a shot. It can’t hurt his chances, not really. He tries to ignore the words, the Witcher is trying to rial him up. Trying to set him off balance. 

“Hardly.” Ninrin snorts like it’s funny, staring at him unblinking. “ I’ve had my fill of mortals. I just want him to suffer. To know I’ll always be better, capable of taking what’s his. To remind him to stay in line. And to do so,” one hand grasps his chin with enough force to bruise, and the other his hip, he continues smugly, “ I’ll have my fill of you.”

💔😡😭

He screams. He doesn’t hesitate, not like he did last time. Ninrin laughs and cuts it off with a kiss. He kicks out with his hands and feet but the Witcher doesn’t budge. His hands hurt where they punch at the Witcher’s chest and arms. Ninrin pulls back and licks towards what’s exposed of his neck, moves a thigh the size of a small tree between his leg and whispers in his ear, “Scream all you want songbird you wandered a little too far and no ones going to hear us out here” and nibbles at the shell of his ear. 

“Stop. Please. Please don’t do this.” He nearly sobs through gritted teeth. He hold's himself together. Tries to be strong. He tries to move away but there is no where to go. The hand on his waist tightens. He pushes his hands against the solid chest in front of him with everything he has. It does him absolutely no good. The witcher laughs. 

“ Tut tut. I think not. I’m going to ruin you, and watch him crumble. He should know better then to leave his weaknesses exposed. I’ll deal with the princess later. How’s that sound? Maybe I’ll even let you watch, hmm. If you're good. If you behave. So, why don’t you relax? Sing a song for me?” 

“Don’t you fucking dare threaten her!” He spits loudly. 

Jaskier headbutts him, with new found energy. It doesn’t work the way he hopes. Ninrin laughs cruelly and backhands him. His lips split. He can feel a bruise forming already on his face. It stings, and tears prickle his eyes. He grits his teeth as the man laps at his blood, like a dog at water. His head is spinning unpleasantly. He shivers from cold, fear, and disgust. The hand on his waist slides up his chest and his doublet is ripped open. The mutant's other hand grasps his shoulder pushing him roughly against the bark of the tree. His other works on tearing his shirt open. Calloused fingers find his nipples and pull at them roughly. Lips meet his and he twists his face and torso to the side. He kicks downward with all his strength and Ninrin steps back in momentary shock at the suddenness of the assault on his foot. Apparently he had not expected it. 

Jaskier runs. He hears a cruel laugh behind him but he doesn’t stop. The snow slows him. He trips on a half buried log and falters. He’s grabbed from behind by his ruined clothing and drug bag to the clearing. His hands are bound behind his back with the remnants of his own shirt. He writhes against it, twists and pulls away with all the strength he has. He yells uselessly for Geralt, for anyone. He doesn’t register the pain as different twigs and pine needles dig into his skin. He doesn’t register the cold, adrenaline keeps him fighting. He gets kicked in the ribs. He feels them break. He wheezes and tries to curl in on himself. Vision swimming with spots. Suddenly he doesn't have the air to scream.

“Run from me again, bardling and I will dislocate your legs.” Ninrin spits at him while he’s forced face first into the dirt. He turns his face to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He feels his boots get pulled off and kicks blindly. He makes contact with something. Hard. There is a beast like snarl and then Jaskier sees spots as white hot pain shoots through his leg originating in his knee. 

“Kicking me is about the same, starling.” His attacker bites out, and then continues much softer, contemplatively, “Though…. I must admit, you do have spirit. It’s nice but I’ll break it from you yet.” His pants and small clothes are removed in a fluid motion, and he screams as his knee is wrenched in a way that shouldn’t be possible. He hears buttons come undone, the sound of fabric being pushed away from skin. He can't fathom why he is still conscious. 

He tries to breathe but everything aches. He gasps shallowly for air. He wants to keep fighting but his body isn’t responding anymore. He feels lethargic. He feels hands against his now completely bare flesh. They rub over his shoulders, down his sides. He closes his eyes. He focuses on the longest epic he can think of. One of many he’d memorized as a student. He focuses on reciting it even as words are whispered to him directly in his ear. Intimately despite the isolation of their location. They get through anyways. 

“I’m going to take you dry for all that fighting. I bet you like it that way, don’t you? Rough. You have to, to be sleeping with a witcher. You'll have to tell me when I'm through which of us is better.”  
Large rough hands take hold of his ass and spread him apart. It's too far, much too far.  
He screams. It’s blood curdling to his own ears. 

The hands on his hips tighten with every thrust, their fingernails leaving crescent shaped dips that pool with blood. It drips down his side and thighs. He will have bruises in the shape of his hands for weeks. He can feel the warmth of liquid inside him and knows it’s because he’s bleeding. He can feel every time the cock inside him brushes against torn and tearing skin. He cries and when he grimaces his lip bleeds again, dripping down his chin. He stares at the tops of the trees silver with frost and snow turning gold and hopes this ends soon. His body is beginning to respond against his wishes.

“You're tight. It feels good. When was the last time he took you? Hmmm… Must have been before you arrived here. It’s no wonder he keeps you in his bed. I would too. You look so good like this, a pretty little caged bird.” It’s whispered against his ear, tongue brushing at his cheek. His fingers prickle with numbness against his back. His shoulders ache from the position. 

Ninrin kisses his shoulders, bites down hard whenever he whimpers. Hard enough to draw blood and leave deep divots in his skin. On his shoulders, his back, his arms, and neck, anywhere that can be reached. They’ll likely leave scars if they go untreated. He tries not to make a sound, but the pain is too much and occasionally the man hits his prostate. He forces himself to stay still. To shut up and take it. He bites his lip until it bleeds, holding back sobs and screams alike. A too hot, calloused hand wraps around his cock. 

“Ahh so you do like this don’t you. I’m not surprised.” He hears the other growl against him as he pumps his cock slow and then faster until Jaskier comes unwanted with a sob all over the bastards hand. 

“That wasn’t so hard was it? It wasn’t so bad. Now shall I tell you what you taste like to me?” 

Blessedly the movement inside him stops. The fullness is still there but he isn’t moving and Jaskier can breathe for a moment. It stings as his ribs move with his lungs. He tries to breath deep to acquaint himself with air but ends up taking shallow needy breaths. He hears a wet slurping sound and wants to vomit. 

“ Huh. Not at all what I thought you’d taste like. Not at all like you smell either. That's too bad.” His voice is calm, collected, contemplative. “ Now tell me. I’m pretty close to being done with you for the moment. Shall I come inside you like I am now? Or should I turn you over and spill all over you? Hmm go on. This is an actual question. But be quick about it.” He says thrusting hard to punctuate his meaning. Jaskier whimpers as he picks back up the pace. He knows already between the two which is the less disgusting thought. He prefers neither. He swallows down blood and spit, snot, tears, bile and repulsion. He finds his voice, what’s left of it is hoarse and rough.

“ o-on me.” He chokes out, barely audible.  
“Say that again bardling, Be confident. Louder.” He barks into Jaskeirs ear.  
“On me.” He says brokenly.  
Ninrin laughs, a bitter sound and pulls out. He forces Jaskier onto his back, his arms numb beneath him. His leg aches and he nearly passes out from the searing pain coursing through his body. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see this. He wishes he had passed out. 

“ None of that little dove. Open your eyes. I want you to watch me.” He doesn’t. There is a hand on his chin, forcing his head up off the ground with harsh tugs. He feels lips on his chest, kissing across it and one of his nipples is taken roughly into a mouth. Then a hand pushes into his broken ribs and the lips pull away at his agonized gasp. 

“I said watch.” The malice in his attackers voice is startling, but he wants this to end. So he obeys. He opens his eyes and watches, with tears in his eyes, as the larger man brings himself over the edge with his hand.

Ninrins seed spills across his stomach, chest, and some ends up on his chin. He looks away when it’s done, but the bastard hasn’t had enough apparently. He feels fingers in the mess on him then on his chin. 

“If you bite me, I’ll make sure the princess pays for it.” Then fingers covered in spend are thrust into his mouth. He gags. 

“Go on, lick it up. Swallow.” His nose is plugged by the Witcher’s other hand, his torso trapped between strong thighs. Fingers press at the back of his throat. He obeys, if only so he can breathe. 

💔😡😭

Finished, he feels his attacker step away from him. He hears the rustling of fabric as he redresses. He rolls onto his undamaged side with a whimper. The cold is beginning to seep in again and he pulls his good knee to his chest, his other leg won't cooperate. It’s as close to the fetal position as he can get. It’s agony and every movement shoots white hot pain through him. He feels sick. His head is spinning. He wants to throw up from the taste in his mouth. He’s shaking from it all, nerves and cold. He can't move, and he thinks he'll die out here in the snow. 

“ JASKIER!” The voice sounds far away. But he knows this voice and he lets the tears come now in earnest.  
He manages a weak croak. “Grlt.”  
He doesn’t have the strength to call a reply. He’s cold and the pain is too much. He closes his eyes against it. He hears the clash of steal on steal and a cruel, unfazed laugh.  
He passes out.


	5. A Betrayers Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ninrin clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this interaction to be more violent, but oddly I couldn't make that happen right now. Maybe I'll try editing it again later. Probably not though.... 
> 
> Uhm, Enjoy I suppose? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, I really love feedback so if you have anything to say I thrive on it.

GERALT 

Ciri joins him at the table where he and Ceon are playing a game of gwent. He is deep in thought about his next move. He looks up regardless.  
“Ciri?”  
“Do you know when Jaskier will be back? It’s getting late and he promised when I was done with Yen he'd teach me some new chords.” He smiles, Ciri is learning everything she can, soaking up all the knowledge available to her like a sponge. She isn’t excellent with the instrument but she tries. It’s really an excuse to spend time doing something Jaskier loves. He lights up when he teaches her. It’s probably the only reason she still tries. 

He casts a glance around the room.  
The light in the windows catches his eye. It’s getting late, and he knows it’s cold out again. Jaskier should be back. He clenches his teeth. Ciri steps back when he does a second more focused look around the room. Ceon watches him too. Eskle and Lambert are talking with Yen, unsurprisingly. Vesemir is tending to supper. Ciri is next to him looking more concerned the longer he is silent. 

Eskel looks at him then. He stands. 

“Ciri, why don’t you take over? Ceon can teach you.” He picks his blades up from where they are leaning against the wall and straps them on. 

“Excuse me.” Eskel says even as he makes his way to Geralt. They share a look. They don’t need words, both of them have drawn the same conclusion. Geralt's stomach twists uncomfortably. Vesemir looks at them curiously but only nods. He won't get in the way. Eskel readies his own blades. If trouble’s brewing with Geralt involved he’ll be there. That's what brothers are for, even if they are only brothers by forged memories. Yen tries to join them and Geralt bites out, “Stay with Ciri, Yen.” She obeys for once. She’s startled by his tone. Her eyes hold concern but one glance around and she understands. She joins Ciri and Ceon at the table as the two of them make their way out into the courtyard. 

The sun is casting a golden light on the tops of the trees. It’s later than he thought it was. He can feel the bite of a snowstorm in the air. He finds Jaskeirs trail with ease and hurries along it. He doesn’t run but his pace is fast, determined. He keeps his composure, barely. No one speaks, they move as a unit, spreading out like they are hunting a horde. Eskel is on his left separated by a few yards. They are well into the trees when he smells it. Blood, Jaskeirs blood, underneath it fear, and mingled with that, arousal. He breaks into a run. His vision narrows and he pulls ahead, breaking formation. Ninrin will die violently tonight if he has touched Jaskier. He swallows, the closer he gets, the more his senses tell him what's happened. 

The story is written in the air around him. He nearly gags despite his training. The stench of fear and pain is potent here and he scrunches up his nose as his legs propel him forward. It clings to his tongue. He can here, Jaskier whimpering and knows he’s close to wherever they are. There's a hill in front of him, it’s not a big one, but enough to block his view. The smell of blood, Jaskiers blood, and semen is in the air, both Jaskiers and another, Ninrins. He pushes himself up the last of the hill and brings his sword to his hand. 

“JASKIER!” He yells before he can catch himself. He's worried, angry, livid. He crests the hill and the sight that greets him makes him see red. The bard, his bard, isn't moving. He enters the clearing and brings his sword down on Ninrin with a snarl. The other witcher parries and grins at him moving back and into a familiar stance. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up, Geralt. I think he was too. Screamed for you, more than once.” Rage boils in his veins.  
“Bastard.” He growls between clenched teeth. His face is severe. His eyes focused and unyielding. “I will kill you.”  
“You’ll try.” The other man says determinedly and then continues with false shock and offense. “You’d kill a fellow witcher? Tut, Geralt, how far you’ve fallen.” Geralt swipes at the finger wagged towards him. Ninrin jumps back and laughs loudly.  
“You're a coward, if you think I intend to let you hide behind that.” He lunges forward. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have let your weaknesses be known so easily.” He pulls back and clenches his jaw harder.  
“They aren't weaknesses!” He lunges forward, Ninrin rolls to the side, just outside his reach.  
“No? What then?”  
He doesn't answer, just focuses on how he intends to inflict pain on his enemy.  
He can hear Eskel behind him, hear the rustle of fur as a cloak is dropped over Jaskier and a whimper when He’s lifted.  
“I’ve got you Jaskier. Geralt, I’m going.” Geralt stays focused on the beast in front of him. 

Hearing Jaskier whimper sends him over the edge. He lunges forward and nicks Ninrins shoulder with his blade. The other witcher squares up ready for a real fight, sword pushing against his own, but Geralt is close enough that he kicks the other man’s knee and he crumples. His body is shaking with tension. So he lets it all out. He moves quickly, quicker than his opponent was prepared for. With Ninrin kneeling in front of him Geralt drops his blade and in quick succession drops his hands to the other mans wrist and snaps it as simply as if he'd snapped a carrot. Ninrin grunts in pain, and attempts to stand. His knee refusing to hold his weight. Geralt kicks both blades away and rounds on him again. 

“I should gut you like the pig you are.” He spits at him, eyes full of fury and hate. Nirin has the audacity to laugh up at him with his dying breaths.  
“But you won’t.” He goes still a moment later, head hanging limply on a broken spine. His body lands with a soft thud and lays still at Geralt's feet, cooling like the air around them. Geralt sucks in a deep breath only to be reminded of what happened. He squares his shoulders and his jaw. He turns back toward the keep. He won't regret his decision. If Geralt wasn't skilled in killing quickly, he would have eviscerated the man, let him see his own entrails on the ground. He would have made him feel the pain and fear Jaskier felt. He steadies himself, he knows he will have to face Vesemir. Right now though, he needs to know if Jaskier will be alright. Something catches his eye and he stops. There, forgotten on the other side of the clearing is Jaskiers satchel. He quickly snatches it up and takes it with him. 

He catches sight of Vesemir and they lock eyes. It’s darker out now, the sky a veil of shadowed blues around them. They share a look, and Vesemir approaches him with a steady gate. They both breathe for a moment. Finally Vesemir speaks with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Go to him. We will discuss this later. I’ll deal with the body.” He feels a firm squeeze on his shoulder and his tone steady and reassuring. There is a hint of sadness, but it is quickly forgotten.

He looks away, shame is cooling the rage that is still filling his veins. It's not shame for what he did, but for losing his composure, for letting Jaskier get hurt. He could have gone with him. He knows he should have. He didn’t have a good reason for not having gone with the man, not a single one. He nods stiffly. It takes three steps before he breaks into a run.

YENNEFER

She taps at the table absently. They’ve been gone a while. The sun is gone now. Vesemir had gone looking for them when it had first begun to set. With a frustrated sigh for being left out of the loop she buries her nose in a book preparing for Ciri’s next lesson. They've eaten, though not much. Ciri keeps glancing at the door expectantly, though she seems to be figuring Gwent out quickly despite the distraction. Or perhaps Ceon is letting her win. She’s just gotten focused on a specific passage when the door swings wide and Ciri screams. She looks up and stands at the same moment. She pulls Ciri against her forcing her to look away from the scene. It’s instinctive, primal to shield her from harm. 

Jaskier is wrapped in a cloak and held tightly to Eskel who makes eye contact with her and gestures towards the now infermary with his chin. Jaskeirs leg hangs at an angle that it shouldn’t be able to. His knee is a swollen myriad of colors. From what she can see his face is likewise beginning to color in purples and blues. Blood is dried on his face, down his chin, and on to his neck mixed with something else. His head lulls this way and that as he is jostled. An arm dangles limpy at his side, wrist rubbed raw of flesh, blood drying on it. She watches Eskel cross the hall with long purposeful strides. 

“Stay here.” She guides Ciri gently back into the chair. 

She follows after him at a steady pace. She and Jaskier aren’t particularly friends but they are bound to one another by Geralt and Ciri and in the weeks since she arrived they’ve gotten to know one another as more. They aren't friends by any means but they are no longer enemies. 

Eskel lays him as gently as possible on the empty bed in the infirmary. It's become unfortunately necessary with their sparring matches growing more intense everyday. 

“Go. I need hot water. Clean rags, find him some clothes.” She takes initiative. Setting to work she grinds a variety of herbs for pain, disinfectant, and to keep him unconscious. She stares despite herself. Abruptly she looks down at her hands. There is a something settling in her stomach. Anger maybe, or perhaps concern. For all their quarrels she would never wish this on him. Eskel returns a moment later with the requested items. 

“I’ll fetch more water.” She nods to acknowledge him. She does a cursory check to see for life threatening injuries but his pulse is steady beneath her hands. What's been done to him makes her sick. The evidence is overwhelming. She starts with his face. She will get him clean then treat the wounds with the very best of her abilities. She hears Geralt before she sees him. She continues her ministrations and moves to Jaskiers neck. The rag comes away dirty, and covered in semen and blood every time. 

“Yen.” She goes rigid at her name, Geralt's voice is just short of broke. 

“I know you want to be here but it’s best if you stay out for now. Let me work. I’ll take care of him. Go to Ciri she’s terrified.” She tries to sound authoritative. To demand he leave.  
She knows he’s still there so she turns. 

“Geralt, right now you can’t-” Eskel moves in with two more buckets of water and cuts her off. 

“I’ve got him Yennefer. Geralt, come on.” He grabs his forearm and gives a firm tug. She watches Geralt follow unwillingly, hesitantly. The door closes behind them and she sets to work in earnest. She works deliberately. Taking a deep breath she removes the cloak from around him for the second time and grimaces despite herself. Violet eyes wander his prone figure and she shakes her head clicking her tongue distastefully. If Geralt saw this he’d fly into a rage. From the state of him, whoever had done this was dead or well on their way. When she’s finished painstakingly cleaning every inch of his body she does it again with the other buckets, having first removed what was necessary for her slaves. It feels too intimate, too intrusive but it's necessary so she grits her teeth and resolves herself to the task. Finally she dresses him after bandaging everything she can. His body will heal and until it does she will keep him unconscious while the worst of it passes.


	6. Forgotten Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri feels abandon. The image of Jaskier haunts her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for reading.
> 
> I have the next two chapters written, but I also started a Soulmate AU after listening to Welly Boots.... SOOOOOO I may be a bit distracted but this isn't going anywhere. That one should be just a long one shot. I hope... Either way I'll try to keep posting every 2-4 days. 
> 
> Anyways, Let me know if you catch mistakes that make this hard to read. OR if you want to chew me out, OR if you want to say something nice, OR ask a questions, OR WHATEVER. I love reading through the comments. But you are under no obligation.

CIRI  
She has nightmares every night now. Sometimes she tries to roll over and go back to sleep. She never can. Sometimes, she goes to Yen who lets her crawl into the big bed and lay in arms that don't hold her quite right. They don't play with her hair, or rub her back like Jaskier and Geralt. She is tired. So very very tired. And the more tired she get the more frustrated she is. No one has told her what's happened. It's been three days and she stays out of the way as best she can. She doesn’t know how Jaskier was hurt but it didn’t look like an animal attack. Maybe he fell? She doesn't know. The memory of that brief moment is etched into her mind. Jaskier looked awful. She’d only seen him a moment but the way his leg dangled like it was unattached had made her sick. The blood on his face haunts her dreams. Its stuck in her mind even now as vividly as the moment she saw it. Not ten minutes after Eskel had carried Jaskier to the infirmary Geralt stormed through the door. His eyes and hair, wild. He’d crossed the room with speed and determination unmatched, a bloodied sword in one hand, a few wounds on himself, and Jaskiers' satchel grasped tightly in his other hand. The game of gwent was forgotten as she stood and watched the movement around the keep. She’d made her way in the direction the others had gone. She was trying to chase after them when Ceon stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. 

“Ciri, perhaps we should stay out of their way until we know what’s going on.” She had looked at him with anxiety bubbling in her chest. Then she looked in the direction the others had gone with longing and fear. 

“ Ceon, I’m going to track down Vesemir. He should have come back with the others.” Lambert called from the door. She broke away from him then and took off down the hall. She stopped around the corner. Listening. Neither of the present witchers commented if they knew she was there. So she sneaked to the very edge of the wall and watched. 

“Nins dead then?” 

“Yes.” Geralt snarls. Eskel squeezes his shoulder. 

“You did what needed done.” 

“ I know… Damn it! I shouldn’t have let him go alone.” She watches Geralt throw down his sword in a fit of rage.  
“You couldn’t know. Geralt, you didn't know he would be in danger out there. This is our home for better or worse and it should be a safe place. None of us wanted to believe he was actually guilty.” They fall into silence. She watches as Geralt puts his back to the wall and sits, watching the door. Yen steps out of the room and closes the door firmly behind her. Ciri speaks before she can stop herself running to the older woman’s side. Tears brimming in her eyes. 

“ Is he okay? Will he be okay? He has to be okay Yen.” Awkwardly she’s drawn into a hug. 

“He will heal. But, he might not be the same when he wakes up. There’s a lot of...damage... to his body.” And otherwise. The words come out tight. Ciri thinks there is more but she doesn't continue. So she'd clung tighter to the older woman. 

“ Geralt, get cleaned up. And then stay with him, he will need you when he wakes up.” Yennefer says running a hand through her hair. It’s soothing and Ciri burrows her head into Yens side. 

“ Ciri, come. Let’s get you ready for bed.”  
“Can I sleep in your room?”  
A moment’s hesitation,  
“Of course.” 

She looked at Geralt who had grumbled and stood. He’d started to move and had stopped.  
“ Ciri, sleep well. Try not to worry, alright.” He’d said tiredly, trying to be gentle, reassuring and utterly failing before walking away. 

There are quiet conversations now that cut off when she gets too close. Her training continues almost as normal. She doesn’t train with Geralt right now, he sits vifil beside Jaskiers bed waiting for him to wake up. Lambert takes his place. They fall into their respective stances. They move through the rhythms slowly. They are warming up adn this one is new. Ciri looks away for a moment, in the direction that is Geralt and Jaskiers temporary room in the infirmary. 

“You’ll end up dead if you get distracted like that.” Lambert says mater-o-factly, tapping her arm with the broadside of his sword. She throws her blade down harshly drawing looks as it clatters to the stone below her. The words tumble from her in a hot burst of anger. 

“I may be a child but I have seen more than most in my short time! Why won't anyone just tell me what’s happening? I’m just as worried. Maybe I'm more worried because no one will tell me anything!” She storms off in a rush. Last night she had another nightmare and ended up going to Yen. It wasn’t the same. She was over tired. She missed Jaskiers lullabies and training with Geralt. 

She finds a dark corner and sulks. It doesn't take long for her thoughts to consumer her. The tears spill over. She curls herself into a ball and weeps. She feels abandoned. Her grandmother is dead. Her grandfather is dead. Moussack is dead. Jaskier is hurt. Geralt won't talk to her. The others are trying but they aren't the same. She loves Yen, but she is kind of scared of how brash and confident the woman is. At times it’s a painful comfort as it reminds her of her Grandmother. She cries harder. She’s tired of being brave. She’s tired of eating dry meat. She’s tired of blistered hands. SHe's tired of being cold. She'  
s tired of this musty old castle. She just wants to play knucklebones in the street. She just wants to dance and laugh with grandpa Eist. She rubs futilely at her face and buries it in her knees. Her lower lip trembles and her small frame is wracked with sobs. She's scared and worried, and even though she trusts Geralt, trusts Jaskier and is learning to trust the others she feels so alone. Isolated in this forsaken keep separated from the rest of the world. It's cold and drafty and she feels like she could get lost so easily in it’s labyrinth halls. 

“May I join you?” Vesemir asks thoughtfully. She looks up startled at his sudden unprecedented appearance. Her eyes are puffy and red, dark circles hang under them. She manages a shaky nod and he sits beside her, legs outstretched. Neither of them speaks for a long time. The longer they sit in the dark and shadowy corridor the more she wants to lean into him, like she does Jaskier, like she does Geralt. As though he can read her thoughts he puts an arm around her shoulders and draws her to his side. 

“It’s easy for us to forget that you’ve been through so much Cirilla. You carry yourself with dignity and grace. Most of the time.” He pauses and looks at her with understanding on his shadowed face, “Your outburst, while warranted was unnecessary, and inappropriate. There are some things as brave as you have been, that you can and should be shielded from. I know that it seems like you’re being left out and perhaps neglected. That's not the intent.” 

She curls closer, his hand rubbing up and down her shoulder comfortingly. While his tone is serious she knows she isn’t in trouble, only being taught. She looks up at him through wet eyelashes. He absently wipes away a stray tear. 

“Why does everyone I love get hurt?” She whispers into his side. Her breath hitches and she hiccups. The tears well up again and she looks away from him, burying her shame and her weakness in his side so he can't see. 

“Cirilla.” He pauses, and she wonders if he’s going to make an excuse or even answer at all. She feels pathetic and small. She feels like she’s letting them all down. Like she is the one failing, like she should do better because that would fix everything. But then he continues.

“Jaskier was injured very badly by one of my... er, sons. I suppose he was. He wasn’t a good man and did some very bad things. Not just to Jaskier, but to others as well. Jaskier will be okay, but it will take time for his body and his mind to heal. For now, just keep doing what you’re doing. Be brave, and kind. Geralt is hurt too, in a different kind of way. He’ll come around eventually. It's hard but be patient with them.” She sniffles and nods. She wipes her nose on her sleeve and stays tight against his side. He is warm. He doesn’t push her away just holds her tighter. She listens to the steady beat of his heart and breathing. Eventually she falls asleep.


	7. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I hope that this is a good read for all of you! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts! I love to hear them!

JASKIER 

The first time he wakes everything is agony. Hands that are steady and soft force liquid into his mouth and another coaxes it down his throat. He returns to darkness with open arms. 

The second time he wakes he can hear voices, and the agony isn’t so bad. It’s painful, but he doesn’t feel like he will collapse in on himself or be torn apart. Everything comes in bits and pieces.   
“How long… keep.. Injuries….”  
“ A few… yes I… stop your... Geralt!”   
“Awake.” That word is clear. He tries for something but it sounds like gravel sliding beneath boots in his own ears.   
“...Potion...back to… its best.” 

The third time he wakes, he groans and it turns into a hiss when his lungs rebel. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He tries to take a deep breath and moans. It’s quiet and that is enough to make him open his eyes. He sees shadows above him obscuring his view. 

“Jaskier?” The voice is hesitant. Uncertain. He tries to form words but his brain is muddy. He doesn’t remember what happened, doesn’t know where he is. ‘Why does Geralt sound distressed?’ he thinks, ‘I’m in a warm bed. My chest hurts. Why does my chest hurt? Why does-’ It all comes back to him quickly and he gasps awake, pushing himself up, ready to run. Strong arms, push him back. There is a voice accompanying them but he can’t make out the words over the hammering of his heart, or the blood rushing in his ears. He looks around blindly. He isn’t in the woods. He’s fighting at the hands holding him, screaming something. Finally he looks at the body the hands are attached to, hands that are familiar. Urgently he looks to the face they are attached to and stills. He looks around again breathing hard. He can’t catch his breath. It hurts to breathe. Geralt is saying something but he can’t make it out. He hurts. There is so much pain. It’s all agony. He doesn't realize he's crying until a slow tentative hand brushes his cheek. He flinches away, unintentionally. He looks at Geralt and then away. He’s sick. He doubles over the edge of the bed and there’s a bucket waiting. He vomits. When he can finally sit back up he is shaking violently. A shred of damp fabric is pushed into his hands. He stares at it and doesn’t know what he's supposed to do. His head hangs between aching tense shoulders. 

“Jask?” He sniffles but doesn’t look at Geralt. “It’s okay. You're safe now, Dandelion. You're safe.” Gerlats voice is rough but confident. Silence falls between them. He doesn’t move. The bandages on his chest feel too tight. His leg throbs. His head is pounding. 

“May I wipe your face?” He jumps at the sound of Geralt's voice. It’s low in an attempt at gentleness. He doesn’t speak. He can’t. His mouth is dry, his throat aches. So instead he passes the rag back. He feels ashamed, pathetic. The sight of his wrists makes him stop. They’re bandaged but he knows what they must look like underneath. He swallows and finally, oh so slowly faces Geralt. A hand tips his head back with all the gentleness that someone who has only begun to understand how it works can manage. Crudely, a little rough but its offset by the sadness and concern in the eyes that meet his. He’s safe. He knows that. Still he shakes. The cloth is rough against his face and despite the jerky movements of the act, it's reassuring. The hand just barely holding his chin moves and a thumb swipes at his cheek below his eye. He leans into it. 

“I’m sorry.” It leaves him in a hoarse whisper.   
``There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I couldn’t. I wasn’t.” He chokes on his tears and his words die in his throat. “I was too weak.” He finishes the thought morosely, looking at his hands. He hears Geralt shift. 

“Anyone would have been, trained soldier or not. Jaskier, look at me.” He licks his lips and does as told. There was no force behind the order, he didn't have to follow it. He does anyways. 

“You are not at fault for his actions. I am not angry with you. I’m here. I’m staying here. I should have been with you. So don’t blame yourself. Don’t. You fought back and that's all you could do.” 

He nod’s. He hears the words, but he doesn't believe them right now. He doesn’t feel the meaning of them, or their reality. He knows their truth and it only makes him feel worse, for not trusting them. He jerks his head up suddenly remembering. His heart rate picks up and he looks anxiously at the door behind Geralt. 

“He threatened Ciri, Geralt is she safe?”

“She’s safe. You're safe. I killed him. He can’t hurt either of you.” He nods and smiles weakly at Geralt.   
“Thank you.” It comes out stronger than the rest of the words. He watches Geralt stand and panics for a moment that he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t. He goes to the table and pours some water. He walks back to him and passes him the glass. He drinks cautiously. 

“How's your pain?”   
“Manageable if I don’t move much.”   
“Do you want something for it?”  
“No. I’m alright.”  
“Okay.” 

They lapse into a heavy uncomfortable silence. They both know he isn’t alright. He squirms under the intensity of the silence, and the unwavering studying gaze on him. He has the feeling that Geralt has watched the bruises he feels blossom to their fullest bloom and begin to ebb away. He doesn’t like this one bit. 

“Geralt?”   
“Hmm.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, anything but stops short. How does he ask if Geralt is ashamed of him? How does he ask if Geralt thinks he’s disgusting?   
How does he say:   
“I know what he did to me but can you please just hold me.”   
“Will you wait for me to be better?”   
“You must not want anything to do with me now.”  
“I'm sorry I’m a burden.”   
“It must have been hard to kill a comrade, even if he was vile.”   
“Why are you staying?”   
“You’ll never want to have me again will you?”  
“What happens if I can’t ever be touched again? Will you stay?”   
“Why are we lovers?”  
“Why did you choose me?”   
“You could have Yen or Triss, or anyone who isn’t so fragile.”  
“I’m broken now, but will you love me still? Please?” The thoughts keep growing, and growing and twisting like ivy. 

“Jask?” He flinches. Frowns at himself for jumping and adds it to the list of deplorable traits, newly acquired. He swallows his mouth gone dry, tongue as heavy as the lead pooling in his stomach.  
“Nevermind.”   
He wipes uselessly at his face, and it's then that he realizes his ring is gone. He stares at his hand, finger bare. He can’t remember if he lost it when, or maybe Geralt took it back. No that can't be right. He isn’t cruel. An emotionally stunted oaf who inflicts pain unknowingly and needs reprimanded or sent to bed yes, but cruel by intent, not usually. Still, the thought is in his head now and it resonates. He focuses on it. Geralt's voice, uncharacteristically shy, brings him back to reality again. 

“Your fingers were swollen. We had to take it off. It’s just, fuck.” Geralt moves to his feet and digs in his pocket. The ring is held back out to him. “Can I?” Amber eyes flick to his hand and the question hangs between them. He nods and licks his lips. They’re dry but the cut is mostly gone. He absently wonders what he looks like when he holds his hand out, it tremors lightly under the touch. Geralt takes it and adds the familiar weight to it once again. Then he shifts uncomfortably beside Jaskier, and he’s back to wondering if Geralt hadn’t planned to give it back. He isn’t expecting Geralt to ask him anything, least of all in an uncertain, usure, way. 

“Can I sit with you? Is that okay...for me to sit with you?”   
“Please.” He agrees, his voice breaking with relief. Sowly, with the grace of a newborn fawn, Geralt sits beside him on the bed. He tentatively brings an arm up hovering over Jaskiers shoulders. He leans back instantly and winces in pain at the sudden contact on his bruises. Geralt stiffens. He pulls away and half turns then winces again as the pain catches up with him.   
“I’m sorry. Did I read that wrong? Did you not want me to do that?” He can't ask anymore questions as the arm settles on his shoulders and draws him back again.  
“No, I did. I wanted you to. I just… fuck. You flinched.”   
“No, it was the bruises I wasn’t, I didn’t think that…I Didn’t mean to. I'm sorry. “ His head droops again and he frowns.  
“Oh.” Silence falls again, but Jaskier is content for the moment. He can pretend. He knows Geralt is brooding, letting his thoughts consume him, but he can’t do anything about it. He’s barely floating himself, and while there is room for both of them on his floatation device he doesn’t know how and lacks the strength to pull Geralt up. At this rate he’ll freeze stiff from the ice and wind around him, and Geralt will drown in the depths of his thoughts. He focuses on their breathing instead. It’s almost in tandem, too slow for him, his eyelids are drooping. His thoughts grow hazey. Geralt seems to notice and tells him   
“Sleep Dandelion, I’ll be here.” That's all it takes for him to slip back into darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralts POV when Jaskier wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter and it doesn't feel to repetitive. I just thought we needed Geralts POV. 
> 
> I mention an event from "Raindrops like Tear Drops Do Fall". It's a story earlier in this series. Spoilers if you don't go read that now. I suggest you go read it but if not, a summary: Geralt basically gives Jaskier a promise ring. It's not an engagement ring but they both know it might as well be. It's a promise for the rest of their lives. No one mentions marriage though. 
> 
> As always if you're so inclined leave a comment. 
> 
> Spoilers: The next chapter is from Triss' POV which should be interesting because I only know her from the show. 
> 
> PS. I got the books so I will try really really hard to make sure I keep updating on my regular 2-4 day schedule. BUT   
> I'm also super busy with midterms and putting together a graduation party guest list (I graduate University in May) and trying to stay motivated to do my class work... OOPS... and what do I do... BUY and read books because that's what will keep me focused.....

Geralt 

The first time Jaskier wakes, he isn’t in the room. Yennefer tells him. 

The second time he wakes he’s speaking with Yennefer.   
“How long do you plan to keep him unconscious?”  
“Long enough for the majority of the minor injuries to heal. A few days at most.”  
“You're sure that's the best thing? Why not just heal him with magic?”   
“ I tended the worst of his wounds, the… internal ones and his knee with magic. But after Sodden I’m relearning a few things. I couldn’t use more. So, yes I could heal him completely with Magic, but I physically cannot right now. That said it’s best to keep him asleep, and, oh stop looking at me like that. Geralt!”   
“He’s awake.” Jaskier makes the sound of a dying drowner and he has to look away.   
“I’ll give him more potion. It will help him get back to sleep. It’s for the best.” Yen says reassuringly. 

The third time Jaskier wakes he isn’t sure the other man is actually awake. Tentatively he asks, 

“Jaskier?”   
Blue eyes come open, unseeing at first. Not a full minute later he’s screaming and flailing and getting helplessly tangled in the bed sheets. Geralt reaches out and holds him back. He can’t walk on his leg yet. Shouldn’t even try to stand. He tries to calm him with his words but knows it’s futile by the rush of his heart. He tries still.   
“Jask. Jaskier! You’re safe. Dandelion. Dandelion, It’s me. It’s me.” Finally frantic, terrified eyes blown wide in panic and fear find him. Those same eyes look around the room quickly.   
“Breathe.” He barely audibly reminds. Jaskier tries to breathe but he can hear the way they catch in his throat, hang in his lungs. Jaksier is crying now, which means he must be in pain. Geralt does something outside of what he knows, what is comfortable and moves to wipe the tear away. Jaskier flinches and he realizes he’s made a terrible mistake. Abruptly the bard leans over the edge of the bed and vomits, there is a bucket waiting for just that. He wants to reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. Offer some kind of support. He knows Jaskier enjoys touch. But he doesn’t know what’s going through his mind right now. Jaskier is shaking when he sits back up. Geralt doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what to do. In an attempt to be useful, helpful, for himself or Jaskier he doesn’t know, he pushes a damp rag into his hands. It’s the best attempt at comfort and to get him to wipe his face off that he can manage. But, Jaskier just stares at his hands. His eyes still spilling clear tears down his brown and yellow cheek. He tries a different approach. 

“May I wipe your face?” His voice comes out a low rumble. Jaskier jumps and he inhales sharp. He doesn’t know this scent. It’s wrong, fear and other things. Jaskier doesn’t look at him, he hides behind a wall of hair that's grown a little longer than normal. He tries to be gentle. He does. The thing is he was never designed to be gentle and he doesn’t really know how to do it. He’s been trying with Jaskier, but a century of behavior isn’t reformed in a year. Lamely the rag is passed back to him. He wipes at his musicians face in what he hopes is a reassuring, if hesitant gesture. He holds his chin steady, just barely and when he finishes he wipes a tear from his face. Jaskier leans into it and he smiles around clenched teeth. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s hoarse and wheezy. Geralt's chest tightens and he can’t help the grimace on his face. 

"There is nothing to apologize for.” It comes out a little faster than he means it to, harsh. 

“I couldn’t. I wasn’t.” Jaskier makes a choked sound and his words die in his throat. “I was too weak.” He finishes the thought morosely, looking at his hands. Geralt shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Anyone would have been, trained soldier or not. Jaskier, look at me.” He watches Jaskier lick his lips and meets his eyes. He hadn’t expected that and forced himself to soften his features as much as possible. 

“You are not at fault for his actions. I am not angry with you. I’m here. I’m staying here. I should have been with you. So don’t blame yourself. Don’t. You fought back and that's all you could do.” He says forcefully, willing the bard to understand. Hoping he gets it. Hoping the words are enough. 

Jaskier nods and then suddenly jerks his head up. His heart rate picks up and he looks anxiously at the door behind Geralt. 

“He threatened Ciri, Geralt is she safe?” Jaskiers voice is concerned and the words tumble out so fast Geralt has to think about what was said. Jaskier looks like he might try to make for the hall himself. 

“She’s safe. You're safe. I killed him. He can’t hurt either of you.” The bard nods and smiles weakly at Geralt, sitting back.   
“Thank you.” It comes out stronger than the rest of the words. Geralt stands noting the hoarseness still in Jaskiers throat and kicks himself for not thinking about it earlier. He hears Jaskiers heart flutter in panic. He goes to the table and pours some water. He walks back to him and passes him the glass. He watches as Jaskier drinks cautiously. 

“How's your pain?” He asks as an afterthought.  
“Manageable if I don’t move much.”   
“Do you want something for it?”  
“No. I’m alright.”  
“Okay.” 

They lapse into a heavy uncomfortable silence. They both know he isn’t alright. Jaskier squirms under the intensity of the silence, but Geralt can’t take his eyes off of him. He’s alive. He’s in pain but he’s alive.The bruises are starting to heal. He won’t be allowed to walk for at least another week, and then only with support. Yen had healed the worst of the damage, but her focus had been on mending bone and sinew and flesh, to keep him from bleeding out. Until Triss returned there wasn’t much else to do. 

“Geralt?”   
“Hmm.” He was considering how long the wounds on Jaskiers skin would take to heal. Bristles that the bruises that litter Jaskeirs skin aren't by his own choosing, born of lust and desire and love. Knowing that instead they come from pain, lust, and to hurt Gerlat himself. Now he watches Jaskiers face. His brows are furrowed, he’s frowning. He watches for a time as storms swirl in blue depths. 

“Jask?” The bard flinches. Frowns deeper.   
“Nevermind.” It’s too soft. To despondent. He watches as Jaskier wipes uselessly at his face. He notices the way he hones in on his finger, then the looks that pass through his face. Pain, sorrow, uncertainty, fear. Geralt stares a moment too long trying to figure out what more is wrong. He realizes Jaskiers ring is still in his pocket. He speaks and his voice comes out uncertain and small. He doesn’t like it much. 

“Your fingers were swollen. We had to take it off. It’s just, fuck.” He stands and digs in his pocket. He holds the ring back out to Jaskier, for the second time.  
“Can I?” He looks at Jaskiers bare hand and remembers his promise. He stands by it still. The question hangs between them. Jaskier nods and licks his lips. It’s a normal habit, reassuring. He takes Jaskiers shaking hand in his and wants to kill Ninrin all over again, in a variety of ways. Jaskier shouldn't shake like this, with the fear of being touched. In pain, full of uncertainty. He places the ring back on its pedestal. Then he shifts uncomfortably, he wants to sit beside him, put his arms around him and be better at expressing himself in some way. So, with uncertainty he hasn’t felt since the mountain, and before that his childhood, he asks, 

“Can I sit with you? Is that okay...for me to sit with you?”   
“Please.” Jaskiers voice breaks with the word like it's everything he has ever wanted, granted to him and set before him on a silver platter. Sowly, with the grace of a newborn fawn, Geralt sits beside him on the bed. He tentatively brings an arm up hovering over Jaskiers shoulders. The bard leans back intuitively. Geralt stiffens Jaskier had flinched at the contact and it has him seething, he wants to go run through his routines, drive an axe through a tree. He needs to move. To DO something. Jaskier pulls away and half turns toward him, he looks like he is in more pain than he will let on. Dark circles color the space below his eyes. He winces again and speaks hurriedly like a child who thinks they are in trouble. 

“I’m sorry. Did I read that wrong? Did you not want me to do that?” Geralt puts his arm back around the smaller man and pulls him in close to his chest.   
“No, I did. I wanted you to. I just… Damn it... You flinched.” The words rumble in his chest.   
“No, it was the bruises I wasn’t, I didn’t think that…I Didn’t mean to. I'm sorry.” Jaksiers head head droops again and he frowns.  
“Oh.” What else could he say? He doesn’t know how to handle this. He feels like he’s drowning. Like he is being consumed with his thoughts, they are fire in his veins. He wants to protect this man at all costs, to help, to heal. He just doesn’t have any idea how. He’s worried about Ciri, he hasn’t had the courage to speak to her. To look her in the eye and say this is his fault. That Jaskier will be different now and it will take some time for things to go back to the way they were before. That they will never be the same. He know she's having nightmares again too. She's more pale when he sees her. Yen is worried about her too. He pulls Jaskier lightly against his chest and absently trails his fingers up and down his arm. They remain like that for some time. Eventually Jaskiers breathing goes shallow and deep. He’s fighting off sleep. Geralt lets out a steady breath. “Sleep Dandelion, I’ll be here.” He’s asleep before Geralt can finish, “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”


	9. Eavesdropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss and yen Eavesdrop on the the witchers and Triss and Jaskier talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I'm sorry for the later post. I can't guarantee that I'll post again soon. 
> 
> Reasons: A) I work retail and I am exhausted. We have been so busy and I don't think it's going to stop. We haven't been quarantined where I am yet, and since I work at a grocery store it's nuts.   
> B) My parents moved back home so I'm juggling having them live with me again. ( I rented their house with my siblings from them while they moved away.) 
> 
> ANYWAYS: Here's the next chapter. It's a little short, but I hope you enjoy and can forgive me. 
> 
> Thank you! 
> 
> :) I hope you are all well.

She knows something has shifted even as she enters the keep. There is a heaviness that lays thickly in the dim halls. No one is in the main hall, and even as she listens all is silent. Triss walks carefully. It’s mid morning and Ciri should be having fun with Jaskier and Ceon if she is remembering correctly. She idly revives a withering plant, brushing it with her fingers as she walks by. It’s too still, for a keep full of witchers, a witch, a girl, and a bard who occupy only a small portion of the keep. Perhaps they’ve gone out on a hunt? That doesn’t make much sense. The hair on the back of her neck prickles. She casts another log on the fire to keep it burning. Slowly she circles the hall. Nothing is out of place. She lets out a sigh the room is almost ambivalent in its solitude. She moves on. The hall is dark, the wall torches having gone out. She lights one. The door to the infirmary is closed; so, she walks past it curious but not wanting to disturb the resident. She goes to the library only to find it empty, Ciri and Yennefers lessons open on the table. She checks the armory next, also empty. She stops and casts out her mind. 

“Yen? Are you there? Where is everyone? Yen?” A quiet response sounds in her ears.

“Come to my room. I’ll explain. But… Be quick.” Triss does as she’s told and walks swiftly and quietly through the halls. She descends the steps and enters the room Yennefer is occupying.  
They share a look. Yen has cast a spell over Ciri who is sleeping soundly on the bed. 

“What's happened?” Yen looks at her and shakes her head. 

“Nothing good.” As they walk with the ward around them, Yen fills her in.

“Jaskier was raped, violently, by Ninrin. He’s been in and out of consciousness for a few days. I haven been able to heal all of his wounds.” Triss nods in understanding, “ Because of that Geralt and Jaskier haven’t wanted Ciri to see him. It’s a mess. Geralt killed Ninrin, but apparently killing another witcher goes against some kind of code. Vesemir has called a meeting with the members here to determine what should be done with Geralt, if anything.” 

Sadness fills her heart and she seethes at the thought. She had liked Jaskier, always, had loved that his names suited him so, Dandelion and Buttercup. They had bonded over that. She worried for him, a frown creasing her features. It’s no wonder Yen had put Ciri to sleep for the moment. 

“I’ll see what I can do for him when we are done with whatever it is we are doing.”

“Eavesdropping.”

“This will end well.” She says dryly.

They walk more determinedly towards the inner hall. Yen had scouted previously. The ward allowed them to be unheard, seen, or smelled, but they wouldn’t be able to hold it forever. They watched from the grate, listened. Vesemir spoke first,

“You all know why we're here.” 

“We shouldn’t be.” Lambert interjects and Vesemir looks at him sharply. 

“ Regardless of my personal feelings, there are still rules, laws of conduct and so forth Lambert. Now let me speak.” Geralt sits silently across from him, head bowed. Lambert sighs and sits back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of petulance. Ceon sits straight, respectfully. Eskel shakes his head. He is completely attentive to Vesemir, mirroring his position. 

“Then speak, Vesemir, but I don’t believe any one of us here finds Geralt at fault.” He says looking between the two. 

Geralt stands abruptly. 

“It’s not necessary for me to be here for this. I’m going to check on Jaskier.” 

“You will not. Sit down Geralt, you must be here. He will be fine for a moment. Yennefer is with him.” Vesemir growls voice tight and pointed. Geralt stiffly obeys after starring the other man down. They maintain eye contact. 

“I will not say that what Ninrin did was not wrong. It was. There is no doubt in my mind now that he was guilty of those crimes he was accused of in T—. Even as such, there are rules as to how he should have been dealt with. I cannot fault you Geralt for your actions, but I am forced to remind all of you—” he's cut off by Ceon. 

“That we shouldn’t go killing our brothers? What even the ones that betray our trust, who harm those we care for, who threaten everything we stand for? We are hated enough for our existence. He gave them only more reasons to hate us. And we’re to what? Punish Geralt for dealing with him, for protecting Jaskier? Protecting both their honor? Ultimately protecting Cirilla?” 

“Beyond that he threatened Cirilla, Princess of Cintra. How far did he fall? He was going mad. His death was inevitable by someone's hands.” Lambert adds offhandedly, looking at his nails like he doesn’t actually care about the events that are being discussed. “Frankly if Geralt hadn’t killed him, one of us would have.” He looks up meeting each of their eyes. “Am I wrong?” 

“Especially if he had openly tried to harm Cir, or any of the others. If I had found them, I would have responded the same.” Ceon agrees. 

“What I am gathering,” Eskel speaks before Vesemir can but makes eye contact as a sign of respect, “is that none of us fault Geralt, we all would have done the same. It’s better this way. We were betrayed by our brother. Vesemir, he left the path, left behind any sense of right and wrong, and became the monster humans fear. So what did you bring us here to discuss? None of us believe Geralt should be punished. We are all in agreement. What's done is done. Let it rest.”

Vesemir lets out a long sigh through his nose. He slouches tiredly into his chair. 

“It seems you are still as thick as thieves the lot of you.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and continues, “ And yet there will be consequences. What if others ask what has happened to him? What do I tell them? The truth, and hope they don’t decide to continue the cycle or revenge?” He pauses, waits for an answer.

“Yes.” Geralt speaks. “Let them decide. If what I did was wrong then let it come back to me. I will not, nor do I now regret my decision. If you…” He shakes his head. “ Let the others decide if I am to blame or not. I think few will find me in the wrong, save that I bypassed custom.” 

Vesemir stands and strides towards Geralt. The others follow suit. The sound of shuffling clothes and weapons is deafening enough that Tirss and Yen cannot hear what he says next. It looks like it's about to come to blows. They share a look. They won't interfere this isn’t their guild, their “family” even if that is exactly what it has become.. Triss motions back towards the hall. They don’t hear commotion as they leave. They must have settled it. When they are far enough not to be heard Triss asks to be taken to Jaskier. 

She knocks on the door, before she enters. Jaskier looks up at her from where he is idly strumming at his lute. If he has to be stuck in this god awful room he probably needs it. It smells of a sick room. She makes eye contact with him and frowns when he looks away. His cheek has the faint yellow and brown green colors that comes with a fading bruise. She can see a bandage on his neck and knows what it probably is.

“Yen told me what happened.” She says gently. She doesn’t ask permission just sits next to him like she would if she didn’t know something had happened.  
“I know she couldn’t heal all of your injuries since she was still recovering herself. But I’d like to try if that's alright.” 

“Yes, gods, please. And… Thank you.” 

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You have.” He smiles weakly at her. “You sat beside me without asking.” 

“Ahh. Well that’s silly. Don’t be thankful that I’m treating you like a human.”  
Yen shifts behind her. She shakes her head in exasperation. 

“You got hurt, but you’re still you. No sense in beating around the bush and being delicate. Some wounds have to be opened and drained before they can heal. Now can I see your wounds?” This she does ask. She won’t demand he strip like she would another patient. There are some lines, this is one of them. 

“Shall I stay.” 

“Will you keep a lookout, I… Don’t want Geralt flying into a rage if he sees.” He casts his eyes downwards. 

“I’ll do that then. Triss let me know if you need my help.” Yen leaves them and closes the door behind her. 

“Jaskier. It’s uncomfortable I know, but pants too.” He nods, she watches the muscles in his cheeks work as he clenches and unclenches his jaw, drawing them tight. He stares at his hands when he is done. 

“Talk to me about anything, Jaskier. It stays between us. I want you to be comfortable. I know this is uncomfortable and awkward for you.” Triss speaks warmly as she undoes the bandages on his neck and back. She sucks in a sharp gasp unintentionally. She had expected it to be bad, but she wasn’t as prepared as she thought. 

“I know.” He whispers. “They're disgusting.” I'm disgusting.He thinks.

“Well at least they haven’t festerd. That's a bonus.” She murmurs as she continues to undo the bandages. 

“Let’s get started then,” she continues, “I’ll start with your lower half so you can dress again.” 

“Thank you.” He responds solemnly, closing his eyes against her touch. “Tell me about your favorite flower?” 

Triss obliges.


	10. A Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ciri talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its really short, I'm sorry. 
> 
> My parents moved back and I'm not adjusting to it well. My mom is really against fanfiction... because my uncle used to sit and read and write it for hours... So I feel judged when she can see me writing and when she knows its not on my book. Because that is acceptable this is not. 
> 
> Rant over. 
> 
> Anyways please don't hate me for the implications. Or that this is a short chapter. The next one will be longer. I promise. :) 
> 
> I didn't really proof read this so if there are mistakes please let me know.

Geralt leaves the other witchers to themselves. The discussion had been a pointless one, as far as he was concerned. He knew, of course, that Vesemir wanted the best for him, that he wished that none of The Events had occurred. In reality he believed that Vesemir felt shame for what Ninrin had done, and he knew that each member of the Wolf school felt it deeply. They had each been betrayed by a man they trusted, one they called brother, and none more so than Geralt. It was an unfamiliar pain to be betrayed by a packmate. Worse still that it was an older one among them, who knew better, should have done better. He rolls his neck. Really the meeting had been for show and to say it had been discussed if they were ever asked by another. He was glad at the end, that it hadn’t come to blows.

He was boiling still, days later. Vesemir knew it and had only offered him a warning. Had told him to review, to meditate, to stay calm. That was hard to do when the man he loved, though he had never said it, had bruises on his skin, was bleeding because of the actions of his brother. He watched the dark corners of the corridors as he walked. He was restless and constantly felt as though something was waiting to cause harm to those he loved. Suddenly he needed to see Ciri, to see Jaskier and to know that they were both safe. He made for the library where Ciri should be studying with Yen. His footfalls echoed in the stillness. The library was empty, the books abandoned. He paused behind the table. He turned slowly scanning the room, something was off. He left the room for the infirmary finding that it was closer.

When he approached, Yennefer, dressed in a black flowing dress, turned towards him.  
“Yen, who is with Jask and where is Ciri?”  
“Triss is with him. She’s attempting to heal that which I could not. Ciri went for a nap. She should be up soon. She’s in my room. Why don’t we go see her?”

He looks at the door for a moment and then nods with a clenched jaw.  
He knows Triss will take good care of Jaskier. He also knows that Jaskier will want privacy for a little while following her attentions. So with stiff shoulders and slow steps he turns away from the infirmary and follows Yen to her room. Apprehension settles in the pit of his stomach. His steps slow a little more.  
“You’ll have to talk to her eventually.” Yen says not slowing her steps.  
“Hm.” He continues behind her.  
“Geralt, she is a child but she has seen much and heard much, she was to be a ruler. Calanthe was a strong woman. I have no debt that Cirilla will likewise be strong, if we continue to raise her that way.”  
“We.”  
“You, me, Jaskier, and the others. We are… family, perhaps is the term, if I may be liberal.”  
“Hmm.’ He hums agreement. It’s an odd thought for certain, but he agrees. They are her family. He swears that he will protect them. He wants her to be healthy and happy, and he knows that as things are now, that may be unachievable. He pauses outside Yens room. It’s been a very long time since he has been in her quarters for any reason. 

She watches him, violet eyes cloudy and soft. She looks away. Whatever had been there he missed and pointedly refuses to dwell upon.  
“Go, speak to her, I will check on Triss’s progress.” With that Yennefer turns on her heel and walks back into the dim corridor. He watches her turn a corner, heels clicking on the stones. He stares after her for a while, finally, he turns away and hesitates at the door. 

The smell of lilacs and gooseberries assault him when he enters the room. Memories come unbridled to his mind and he wants to go back. He wants to go back to how it all was before, before everything became difficult. Back to before the mountain. It would be so much easier than fighting his way out of this mess. 

Movement on the bed pulls him from his thoughts. Ciri sits up, hair falling from the braid slung lazily over her shoulder.  
“Is Papa okay?” She asks tiredly. He stares at her, confusion lacing his features.  
“Papa?”  
“Jaksier. I meant Jaskier.” She says biting her lip. Slowly Geralt approaches the bed. She moves over for him and he sits. 

“Cirilla.” He starts, and then takes a deep breath. She looks up at him, worry filling her very being.  
“Jaskier was attacked by Ninrin. He was harmed badly in many ways. He is alright physically. But I am not sure that he will ever be quite the same. I’m… I don’t say these things to frighten you, only to inform you. He is strong and I know he will get through this, and I am certain we will as well. You were threatened as well but, you’re safe here with me. I will keep you and Jaskier safe. ” She leans in to him and he hugs her close, tucking her head under his chin. 

“I have nightmares, about when Eskel brought him back, the way he looked. I haven’t seen him since.” She whispers into his chest, Geralt holds her tighter. He desperately wants to keep her safe against him like that for the rest of her life.  
They stay like that for some time. 

“Can I… Can I see him?”  
“I think he’d like that.”


	11. A Hug; A Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri and Jaskier talk; Jaskier takes a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how water works at Kaer Morhen. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience pals. I should be back to a semi regular posting schedule now that I'm adjusting and on medical leave from work. Im fine BTW just taking precautions since I have Lupus and Asthma. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. Leave a comment if you want. This chapter isn't proof read yet..... 
> 
> Additionally, since I have read a few of the stories now, book Geralt is kind of coming through in my writing because I like some mix of him and TV Geralt...

Triss moves her hands along his back and he stiffens beneath her touch. This is hard. At least when Yennefer had tended to him he was unconscious. Now he squeezes his eyes shut and tells her stories of his time at Oxenfurt. He forces himself to keep his breathing even. She works with care and diligence. She hesitated a moment at his hips. He could feel her hands hover there. 

“It’s alright Triss. I’m doing okay, you can keep working.” He says outloud. It's a whisper but its consent. She brushes her hands along his hips with trepidation. It doesn’t take long for the magic to do it’s work. She sits beside him and stretches out his knee. He moans. She can hear the muscles cracking and he yelps when the bones slip apart. She focuses on his knee and begins the process of mending bone and sinew. He stops talking to let her focus. When she’s done she looks at him.

“There's only one injury left.” Her words hang in the air.   
He stares at his hands, twirling the ring on his finger and nods.   
“Lay forward please.” She places a pillow beneath his chest. “I enchanted that ring you know. He came to me, wouldn’t tell me who it was for, only asked if I would be willing to enchant it. Tell me how he gave it to you.” He grips the pillow tight and lets her divest him of the remaining clothes. Finally he starts his story with a shaky voice. Gradually it comes stronger and more certain as he recalls the details of that day. 

Finally she finishes and turns her back to him. She goes about tidying the discarded wraps separating them into clean and dirty piles. He dresses while he watches her work. Experimentally he bends his knee, drawing it to his chest and stretching it out again. It’s stiff.   
“Thank you, Triss. I feel much better. Can I… Can I try to stand?” Jaskier says with delight. He feels better than he has since before the events which placed him in the infirmary.

“So long as you are careful and don’t move about too much. Your leg will take some time yet to support you proper. If... if it ever will again. It was damaged very badly. The bone was broken and the ligaments torn.” Triss responds wrapping the clean bandages backup and placing the used ones in the bin to be laundered. 

He nods and smiles a small genuine smile on his face. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gingerly stands. Triss smiles at him. His legs are a little shaky, stif from disuse. He looks up from the ground when a knock sounds on the door. Triss opens it and Ciri bounds past her. 

“Jaskier!” She stops short arms spread wide for a hug. He opens his own arms in agreement and she hugs him. His leg gives out from the force of it and he takes her with him to the bed. She doesn’t let go, so he settles with running fingers through messy hair. He looks up and locks eyes with Geralt. Geralt nods at him and Jaskier smiles brightly in response. He feels halfway normal. Ciri snuggles closer to him so he looks back down at her. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Triss says stepping out into the hall. Geralt hesitates on the threshold as Yennefer and Triss walk away. 

“Do I need to invite you in?” Jaskier tries to joke.   
Geralt hums and joins them. He sits in the chair that still resides beside Jaskiers bed. Ciri climbs up on the bed beside him so he moves back against the wall. She's tucked under his arm. No one speaks for some time. 

“I was scared that you wouldn’t wake up. I was so worried about you Jaskier. I.. I.” Ciri starts sobbing and he feels his heart stutter. He pulls her closer, looks at Geralt who has an unreadable feature on his face. 

“Dear one, I’m alright. I’m going to be just fine. My knees are a little sore, but I’m still here. I’m still here.” He says to her, to Geralt. “I’m here. Let me rebraid your hair?” Ciri nods into his chest and when she finally pulls away her eyes are still full of moisture. He lifts a hand and wipes at her cheeks.   
“Ciri?” 

“What if…. What if you hadn't, you're like a father to me, you both are. But, what if you had died? I don’t want to be alone again. You were stuck in here and Geralt wouldn’t talk to me. I was so sad and alone. It wasn’t fair!” She says looking desperately between the two of them. “You… you're my family. I don’t want to lose you.” She sobs out crashing against his chest again. He holds her close, looks over her at Geralt who is watching them fondly. They make eye contact and Geralt breaks it first he looks away, shame coating his features. Jaskier sighs and they remain in silence broken only by Ciris sobs until those fade away. 

He adds it to the list of failures he’s accumulated over the years, he will dwell on it later. Later happens to be as he is waiting for Geralt to say or do something. They both know that they need to do better for her sake. Eventually his legs go numb, so he lays Cirilla in the bed and stands. He winces slightly as his knee pops. Geralt stands ready to catch him. He stumbles when his leg protests and isn’t ready to support his full weight. Geralt holds him close. They stand for a minute and finally Jaskier speaks. 

“I need a bath.” Geralt steps to his side instead of behind him, and instead supports him with an arm under his. They walk together. Jaskier leans into him as they traverse the halls and descend the stairs. When they make it to the bathing rooms they stop. Geralt stiffens beside him. 

“I’ll wait here then.” 

“What?” 

“I, I assume you’d like some privacy.” 

“No. I mean if you're uncomfortable… But I’m fine if you want to join me.” Jaskier said, pulling away and entering the room. He turned to the spigot letting the tub fill with hot water. He added to it the normal soaps and salts he was known to. He adds cold water to the tub until it's just hotter than bearable. Geralt is sitting just outside the door. He had heard him thump against the wall and slide down it. It’s a compromise close but not intruding. 

He strips and though bruises no longer mare his body he sees them when he looks in the mirror. He knows them too well, spent far too long studying them as they turned his skin colors. Tracing the outline of teeth marks when he was left alone in the tiny room where he healed. He steps into the water, still too hot, and hisses. He hears Geralt shift but he doesn’t enter the room. Jaskier begins with washing his hair. Hair that had been pulled far to roughly. He scrubs at his scalp until it’s raw form being scrubbed. Then he moves to his neck and shoulders the cloth is coarse and rough against his skin, he scrubs until they are red and near bleeding and continues the process down his chest and around his hips and his groin,his ass. He rinses under the water and holds his breath as long as he can. Repeats. Even after three times he doesn’t feel clean. He dunks under the water again and stays there. He squeezes his eyes shut and runs his hands through his hair. 

The water is soothing and numbing. His lungs burn from the effort. He stays there until a strong arm forces him back above water and he gasps filling his lungs with damp air. Instinctively he pushes away from the hands on him and opens his eyes. Geralt is crouching beside the tub, arms resting against it. 

“I smelled blood.” He says looking Jaskier over, his eyes darting around like an animal trying to find the source of his hurt. 

“I’m fine Geralt.” He says looking away from the witcher, face flushed from the heat and skin red and raw from scrubbing. 

“Are you? You’ve made yourself bleed.” The witcher settles on his haunches studying him. 

“And you stayed under the water for a long time.” Jaskeir inhales deeply as if on queue. 

“I… Yes I’m fine. I just, I feel dirty, Geralt.” He stares at his hands until the witcher leans over and takes one. 

“Get dressed Jaskier. Let’s go raid the kitchen.” He smiles a limp smile, of course Geralt would change the subject to avoid a hard topic. 

“Alright.” He agrees. He starts to dress and stops. “Would you mind terribly retrieving a fresh pair of clothes for me?” Geralt nods and leaves silently. 

He takes a deep breath and looks himself over in the mirror. He traces the red blotches on his skin and sighs. While he waits he combs out his hair, decides to shave. He’s only just finished when Geralt returns. He catches the witcher watching him in the mirror. He wipes away the remainder of the shaving cream from his face and turns to face him. Geralt crosses the room and extends the clothes to him. He takes them and looks the witcher in the eyes. He sees guilt and… disgust, shame, in them before he looks away and says, 

“We need to be better for Cirilla.” 

“What do you propose we do?” He dresses half turned away in shyness or self preservation from Geralt. 

“Let’s start with a meal and go from there.” Geralt says and waits for him to agree. 

“Yes, yes that's as good a place as any.” He takes Geralt's arm and leads the way. The witcher offers no resistance but he is distant, caught up in his own mind too, Jaskier supposes. In the end it food breaks the silence. 

None of the other witchers are present so the two of them sit at the table and sip at some ale. They have left over roast with bread.   
"Jask." Geralt starts and licks his lips, " I don't know what to do. For you, for Ciri. I'm lost." 

"I know, Geralt, I know and it's okay." He smiles sadly. "I just ask that you try. That's all either of us can do." He pauses, takes a bite of bread. It's good, fresh. " For Ciri, we need to be less distant. Start training with her again Geralt. She thrives on your attention. Let's try to return to a rythme, some kind of order for her sake." He takes a bite of roast and waits for Geralt to speak. 

"I agree," he sighs, "I will resume training with her tomorrow. I think that will be good for both of us."   
Jaskier nods his agreement.

"And for you?" Geralt whispers. He stills, takes a deep breath and wills his heart to slow. He looks at his plate. 

"I don't know." His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. But he honestly doesn't know what he needs. He knows what he wants but doesn't know how to tell Geralt. And he's scared of how the other man will react. He can tell this is hard of Geralt and he doesn't want to make it worse. He doesn't want to be left alone but he doesn't want to speak about it anymore. He flexes his jaw, and holds his fork tighter. It's an unconscious act. He wants Geralt to hold him, to erase the touch of the other, simultaneously he doesn't want to be touched at all. He wants to pretend it didn't happen; he also wants to talk about it. He is a conundrum, a mess of opposites. 

"Jask, I need you to tell me. I'm not good at these things. So tell me what you need, how I can help. I promised I wouldn't go anywhere and I won't." 

"Don't let a promise bind you, Geralt." He says as he stands and leaves the room.   
Geralt catches his wrist from behind with a quiet, "Dandelion." He lets out a breath, half pout half resigned acknowledgment. 

"You can't run from this, let me help." 

"I don't know what I need. I don't know what I want." He turns to the witcher with tears in his eyes. "Keep me safe, Geralt. Keep me safe from my own mind. From my thoughts and my nightmares. Can you hold me until the pain goes away? Can you kiss me until your lips are the only ones I know, the only ones I remember? Can you stop looking at me like I'm A wounded animal? Can you... Can you stop looking at me with disgust? Geralt," He places a hand on the witchers face the other on his chest, " Can you make me forget, and even if I can't, even if you can't, will you love me still?" 

He doesn't give Geralt a chance to respond, turns away from him before he can see what Geralt's face does. Walks with determination down the hall, limping slightly as he goes. All the while tears stream down his face, his heart in his hands and his mind full of lies.


	12. Starling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be looking up. Do they dare hope?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are getting better here at home. I'm kind of getting some energy back now that I've taken preventative medical leave from work. 
> 
> I hope you all like this chapter. As always leave a comment if you like! 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me, for encouraging me, and most of all for reading! As soon as I post this I'll be working on chapter 13... It's in my fingers and my brain. 
> 
> Also I just rewatched The Witcher with my mom, who loved it BTW and was angry at the ending (weren't we all), and It helped re-inspire me.( I wasn't calling it quits, just almost started a work for a different fandom) I also have finished "The Last Wish" and "Sword of Destiny", im now working on "Season of Storms" so some of the characters are now being influenced by their book representatives as well as the TV show.... 0.0

Geralt

It’s been a few days since their talk in the kitchen. He can’t look Jaskier in the eyes; and yet, they have managed to return to some semblance of normalcy. They share a room again, and Ciri almost always finds her way between them in the middle of the night, woken by her own nightmares, or sometimes by Jaskiers. After the second night, Geralt had decided to ask Yen about some kind of tincture or drought for them. She and Triss had readily agreed that for now it was okay. It was a dosage of Valerian root, chamomile, and lavender. A completely natural non addictive sleep aid. And while it had done wonders to get them both to sleep, Jaskier still whimpered in his sleep. Ciri still cried. 

Geralt sat up in the grey room. He didn’t light a candle, instead he allowed his eyes to adjust to the room. He studied the sleeping faces of his...family… and let out a low, whispered exhale. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Not really. But, he knew schedules would be key. He will let Ciri sleep a while longer and then they will begin their day. 

Ciri has improved a tremendous amount in the two weeks that he has been absent. He tells her as much, feeling that perhaps she would need that. She blocked a blow to her hip and turned to the side, ducking under his arm and jabing him with a fist, rather forcefully in the gut. He grinned, good indeed. Her size lent her speed and an air of nimble grace. He takes a step back, hands up in mock defeat. She grins. 

“Got you!” 

“Indeed you did Cirilla. You’ve come a long way.” She beamed. “Lets go again, try for three scores.”

She nodded and resumed her stance. He restrained the force of his blows. She had come a long way, but still she was no match for any of them at their full strength. He beat her with ease, letting her get a good blow in her and there. 

When they finish he sends her to wash up before breakfast. He stretches, enjoying the silence broken only by the sound of his movements. He starts through a series of movements with his sword. The air being sliced through by the edge of the blade is comforting in it’s own right. He doesn’t stop even when familiar scent accompanied by familiar footsteps flood his senses. 

Finally he draws to the end of his routine. Slowly he turns to her with a nod of acknowledgement. 

“Yennefer.”   
“Geralt.” 

They stand there in silence for a moment. 

“Can I help you with something?”   
“Maybe.”  
“Hmm.”  
“Don’t be like that, Geralt, you're still brooding. Ciri seems to be returning to her old self so that's a very good thing.”  
“She is.”   
“How are they?”   
“Are you worried?” She steps closer to him, and tilts her head.  
“If I am?”  
“Maybe you should talk to them.” He steadies his heart beat, and refuses to think back on old times.  
“I could, but… Ciri is intimidated by me and Jaskier and I aren’t that close. I don’t know the best way to approach checking up on him. He isn’t quite back to his normal self yet. And, to be frank, I am mostly concerned for you. How are you holding up? What is going through your head?” She’s a hair's breadth away from him now. 

“I don’t know Yen. I honestly have no idea.”

He brushes some stray hairs from his face. He keeps his hands to himself, steps around her and places his sword in its scabbard. She turns and follows him to the bench. He hesitates and decides that he should tend his blade properly. She sits next to him and they fall into a familiar and comfortable silence. She leans against his back and he manages not to go ridgid. It’s comforting. He sits up, leaning into it as he brings a whetstone against his blade. 

“I'm scared I’ll mess this up. That I’ll hurt him more than I am able to help him. It’s my fault he is even here. I should have gone with him and I didn’t. Now he and Ciri…. They.” He growls. 

“I don’t think either of them blame you Geralt. Come walk me to the dinning hall, it’s nearly breakfast. 

He nods, sheaths his sword and does so. They enter the darker corridor hand in arm. 

Yennefer

The day had passed with relative calm after she spoke with Geralt. Jaskier had been absent at breakfast but had turned up for lunch, and in time to spend an hour or two with Ciri. She’d asked him to help her learn something else on the lute. He had smiled a small, albeit genuine smile. Now the girl sat in front of her, working on a lesson with Triss. 

Yennefer sat across from them and pretended to be reading. Really she was listening in to see how Triss and Ciri interacted, what Triss did differently that seemed to work with the girl. So far, the only thing that was different was what she had done, was that Triss was not her. That was it. That was the only difference. Triss was softer than she was, more blurred lines, and curves, wistful, no less smart or beautiful, just different. She sighed and joined them at the table. 

“What are we working on ladies?”   
“More Herbology.” Ciri said dully. Obviously annoyed with her lessons. “Tell me again why I can’t mix these two?”  
“Well, you can, it’s just good practice not to mix herbs, some of them can have adverse effects.”   
“But these two won’t.”   
“And why don’t you think they will.” Yen asked, eyes darting between Triss and Ciri.  
“It’s like mixing Valerian and Lavender, both have similar attributes, they do similar things.”  
“Potatoes, and Nightshade are from the same family. One is deadly the other is not. Just because things are similar doesn’t mean they are safe together. But that's a more advanced lesson.” Triss says with a smile, “We will get there.”   
Ciri groans out an unladylike,“fine” and stretches over the back of the chair. Her stomach growling in the process. It’s almost supper time. 

“Let’s clean up and head to the Hall.” Ciri nods in agreement. 

It doesn’t take them long to straighten up their corner of the library. When they arrive in the hall Ciri firmly plops between Geralt and Jaskier in the open chair there. Geralt smirks, and Jaskier chides. “Ciri, really dear, just because we are in a keep full of brutes doesn’t mean you need to act like one.” And she giggles, so he smiles and Geralt looks lovingly at the two of them, for a moment it seems like everything is okay again. 

Yennefer and Triss sit on either side of them, Yennefer next to Geralt and Triss next to Jaskier. The latter breaks off into quiet conversation while Ciri takes all of Geralt and Eskels attention. Yen just watches with amusement and relief. Getting back to a routine had done wonders. It hadn’t solved everything, but it had certainly started some of the mending. It didn’t slip her notice that Jaskier had looked between her and Geralt a couple of times, since she sat down and again when she had leaned casually into Geralt's space to say something to Ciri. Geralt had let her out of habit, mostly. She furrowed her brow and let it go. She and Geralt had ended some time ago, and while she loved him, she wouldn’t go down that path again. If it were anyone else involved maybe, but these three, this group of people was her Family, her… home, now and she wouldn’t intentionally sabotage that. 

Ciri 

They’ve long since finished eating, but no one has seen it fit to leave the hall. Some have moved to sit by the hearth, others to a different, smaller table to play cards. She is sitting beside Jaskier who is strumming softly at his lute and listening to Triss tell the story about Striga Princess. Yennefer is listening with surprising intensity and Geralt is sipping his ale, chipping in when he recalls something differently. She is listening with interest too. Geralt doesn’t do this often so she's excited, leaning into it to hear everything that gets said. Eventually the tale draws to an end. 

She is content. It's warm in front of the fire, her belly is full and her family, her home, is together again. Some things are still off, still wrong, but it's here, present, and that really all she can ask for. They are all alive, and healthy for the moment. Geralt corrects Triss about something and they laugh, like they are sharing an inside joke. She looks up and sees Jaskier frown. Something sad is etched into his features, but it disappears quickly, replaced by a fond smile and a wink when he looks at her. 

“Will you play something now? Something fun?” She asks him. 

“That’s a good idea.” Coen says from behind, “We could use something lively around here. Maybe a makeshift ball of our own?” 

Ciri grinns, “Will you dance with me Coen?” 

“Would you like me too?”   
She nods and gets to her feet. 

“Please Jaskier?” She almost pouts, it’s an unnecessary step. She knows he will play for her regardless. And to his credit he does. 

“What shall I play, dear audience.” she watches as he stands with a stretch and turns to face the others. She hears his knee and something else pop. He winces a little but covers it quickly adjusting his lute strap and stretching his fingers. There are a couple requests from a couple different voices and nods of agreement. Ciri smiles. 

Jaskier begins a rambunctious tune and she and Coen share a silly bow. Visimer says something to the others and suddenly Eskel and Triss are dancing too, and Yen and Lambert. She grins and laughs. They're spinning in circles so fast she can barely make anything out but she’s happy. She feels happy and glad that things are returning to normal. 

She spies Geralt watching Jaskier play and smiles bigger. This is good, she thinks. Still smiling. The tune changes, another song starts. She’s dancing with Eskel now, he twirls her occasionally and she watches as Geralt is saying something to Visimer who sits beside him. She turns her attention back to her dance partner and he tells her that she's a wonderful dancer for being so young. Her heart lightens some more. They're moving towards Geralt, she's going to ask him to dance the next song with her. Eskel obliges guiding her in that direction. 

“You really are like a little Starling.” Geralt says a smile of adoration visible on his face. 

Suddenly there is a jarring noise from the lute, like Jaskier forgot to play the chord and just strummed the strings harshly. It's a rough noise, grating. She spins around to see what happened even as the noise echoes off the walls. His hands are trembling. But there's no danger. All that had happened was that Geralt spoke. 

She sees Jaksiers lips move, hears what he's saying, the room has gone silent save for the crackling of the fire and the breathing of the people in it. 

“Don’t. Don’t call me that. Not that name.” 

His voice is unsteady and it makes fear rise in her. She watches him take a shuddering breath. She watches as he takes a step back when Geralt reaches for him. Then as he turns, holding his lute close to himself, and leaves the room with haste. Geralt just stares after him for a moment, turns to Visimer and then dashes after him.   
She moves to follow after them, but Visimer grabs her arm, just on the rough side, and she stops. 

“Let them talk, Cirilla.” His voice is firm and commanding. She nods and stares down the shadowed hall after them.


	13. In the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt calls Jaskier "Starling". What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people! I couldn't wait to post this after writing it last night. Here's some more angst with a touch of fresh air at the end.

He feels his heart plummet and then speed up in his chest cavity. His hand misses the chord and he strums the strings of his lute with intensity and vigor carried out only by muscle memory. The words ring in his ear, no, just one.   
  
“ _Starling._ ” 

His mouth moves, 

“Don’t.” His voice breaks, catching in his throat. He tries to clear it. “Don’t call me that. Not that.”   
  
There are too many sets of eyes on him. Each set is too intense. He refuses to look at any of them in the eyes. Shame wells up in him and he feels the need to vomit. Geralt reaches out for him, the movement is slow, intentional, he can track it, and still he scrambles back like a skittish animal. That only makes the shame worse. His vision is unfocused as memories of that moment begin to flick through his mind. He pulls his lute towards his stomach like it's a shield (and really isn't that what it is, has always been?) and turns on his heel. He isn’t quiet running, but he isn’t walking either.   
  


His skin feels clammy under his clothes. His breath is ragged. He keeps walking briskly. The torches are out but it doesn’t matter. The darkness is somehow comforting, when he passes an even darker spot he turns, and repeats. He wants to get lost in the darkened hallways, cloaked by shadows, and be so completely alone that he can't get out. A physical manifestation of what is going on in his head. He can hear Geralt’s footsteps behind him. He keeps moving. He shakes his head trying to dislodge a voice, a memory, he shivers at a phantom touch and keeps walking.

  
_There is a beastiel snarl and then Jaskier sees spots as white hot pain shoots through his leg originating in his knee. “Kicking me is about the same, starling.” His attacker bites out, and then continues much softer, contemplatively, “Though…. I must admit, you do have spirit. It’s nice but I’ll break it from you yet.” His pants and small clothes are removed in a fluid motion, and he screams as his knee is wrenched in a way that shouldn’t be possible. He hears buttons come undone, the sound of fabric being pushed away from skin._

His knee almost gives way beneath him at the memory and he stumbles slightly. He braces a hand on the wall, and it echoes through the inky blackness, off silent cold stones. 

“Jaskier, Please stop. You’ll get lost.” Geralt calls out to him. He can hear the other man's footsteps louder, closer, his stride longer. But not giving chase, not trying to pin Jaskier like an animal, and yet that's what he feels is happening. He’s being chased by someone he can’t escape, again. He pushes off the wall and keeps going. He doesn’t want to talk to the other man. He needs… What does he need? He needs to breathe maybe? To be alone? It doesn't matter. He trudges forward, his knuckles white from the strength with which he holds his lute close to himself. He gets lost in thought as he goes. More memories. 

He bites his lip at the memory of it being split open, shivers as he recalls the way blood was licked away. He shakes his head and tries to remember the first time he had kissed Geralt instead. He smiles sadly. Geralt had bedded him that night too, at his own suggestion. They'd been fighting, and he had been so nervous. So scared Geralt would leave and not turn back, despite his, albeit weak, apology for his words atop the mountain.   
  
Jaskier felt heavy, while running away from one memory he ran into another he’d rather not recall. How many times had he fucked up? To many. He wipes his eyes harshly with the back of one hand. His throat burns with the need to sob or scream, maybe both. He’s having trouble breathing and what air does enter his lungs does so in shuddering little gasps. His knee feels ready to really and truly give out. A hand catches his wrist and he spins around harshly pulling it away. If Geralt had meant to keep a hold of it it would still be in his hand. Instead it swings at his side, before stilling in a fist. 

“Jask.” It’s a mostly disembodied whisper. He can make out Geralt's eyes, barely, shining lowly in the blackness, and it unsettles him. He’s seen it before sure, but never when he felt like a caged animal unable to escape a predator. He can feel the heat that radiates off Geralt and steps back a half step. Putting some distance between them. He doesn’t run. ‘It’s only Geralt’ he tells himself. He swallows against the pain in his throat. His lungs suddenly aching from lack of air.   
  
“Breath Jaskier.” Geralt's voice is low, soft, just on the rough side of gentle, a little gravely. He smells like leather and sword oil, like the forest floor and stone. He smells like home, and Jaskier wants to lean into him, hold him, bury his nose in his chest and never let go. He doesn’t. He stops himself, adjusts his lute in front of him. He isn’t worthy of the man before him. He knows that. He has never been worth Geralt's time or energy. He had never been helpful or useful to him, not in any way that mattered. He had been brash, loud, caused plenty of trouble for them, and he’d been obnoxious and annoying. He swallows and blinks back unshed tears.   
  
“What happened?” Geralt asks into the void between them.   
  
“He… He called me that when he broke my knee.” 

Geralt makes a noise like he’s been punched. Jaskier looks away from where he knows the other man is, studying the way the darkness pools at the corner where the wall meets the floor. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t realize, Jaskier, I…” Silence hangs between them, he doesn’t speak for two reasons. First he doesn’t know what to say, how to comfort Geralt. And two, he's angry at the other man. 

“What other names should I avoid?” He’s taken aback by the question. He clenches his teeth. 

“Bardling, lark, songbird.” He chokes out breathlessly. The tears come unbidden, trickling paths down his cheeks, cheeks which have hollowed a little over the last week. 

“Dandelion, come let’s… talk. I didn’t mean to upset you. To bring back painful memories.” 

“Why? Why bother talking to me Geralt?” He snaps, venom in his breaking voice.  
He sees the other man blink in the darkness. 

“Because… “ It hangs too long. 

“Why don’t you just go talk with Yennefer some more. You seem more than content with that.” He almost spits. Hurt joins the anger and pain in his chest. 

“Jaskier, I don’t know -”

“Don’t you? I’ve seen the looks you two give each other! The way she can be inside your personal space in a way Ciri and I can’t be. I’ve seen you two talk in the shadows. I saw you together just this morning! Dammit, Geralt! If you’d prefer to be with her just say so. I can't, I can’t fight that battle too. I can’t.” He sobs out, “I can’t. I can barely fight the war raging in my head. I’m losing that one too.”

He steps backwards until he comes into contact with the wall and slides down, bringing his hands to his head. He sobs, sorrow welling up. How could he have said that. It was ruined now, completely ruined, every chance he had of going back, burned to the ground by the lashing of his tongue. His lute falls to his side, and he pulls his knees to his chest. And oh how he feels like a child again, sitting in the dark afraid and alone even with people right there, just out of arm's reach. He cries and the tears feel like acid on his face, his throat feels raw and hoarse. His chest aches from the exertion. He can feel his senses numbing, the tingling in his toes. How long has he been sitting here, if his legs have gone to sleep? He pulls at his hair, eyes still leaking, chest still shuddering, aching for air, trying to feel something. He’s forgotten all about the other person in the hall, the person that has seen him break down, hear his mumbles, his ravings. And.. he wants to die, fall down in a hole and never even try to get out. 

What must Geralt think of him now? Dirty, filthy, lunatic man, incapable of defending himself, or protecting others, incapable of being strong the way he was, or the way Yennefer was, or even the way Ciri was. No, no. He’s certain the other man had left though, and that's more painful, there is no sound besides his own in the hall. He hadn’t meant that he wanted the other to go. He hadn’t meant… 

He’s alone. Really truly alone, it’s not just in his head, it’s the reality. If Geralt was still there surely he would have said something., done something, by now. 

His sobbing intensifies again, fresh from the new line of thought. He can feel the snot on his face, he rubs at his eyes again, and tries to steady his breathing. He's a musician, a singer, he should have better control over his lungs. His body denies him. He feels like he’s suffocating. He claws at his throat, memories of the djinn flashing back to quickly to really process.   
  
He notices a hand on his shoulder and thrashes trying to pull away. It doesn’t help his inability to breath. Suddenly two strong arms are around his shoulders pulling him in, pulling him close.

“Stop. Julian. Stop.”

And he does. It’s Geralt which means he hadn’t left. It eases the tension in him while simultaneously making the entire situation worse. His head is pulled against Geralt's chest and he gasps for air. A large rough hand rubs up and down his back, almost mechanically.. 

“I’m here. Jask. I’m here.” 

He breathes deep, sinking further against Geralt. He knows the other man's shirt is covered in snot and tears now, and he brings his hands up, burying them tightly in the fabric. He can feel the shudders retreating, feel his breath evening out. Geralt's other hand finds his, linking them, his ring tight against his finger.   
  
“Sleep Jaskier, I’m here. I promised. I won’t leave. Now sleep.”   
  
Nothing has been resolved; but, as he presses his face to Geralt's chest, he has hope. He notes as his eyes grow heavy that Geralt is humming. He can feel the reverberations in his cheek. He knows the melody too, but he’s too exhausted to place it. 

Still, hope clings to him like a blanket as Geralt tightens his arms and his eyes flutter closed. 

Geralt smells like home, and home _should be_ a safe place.   
  



	14. Musings of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt thinks about their fight, how he can help, and what he should do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I typed this chapter up just a bit ago... then I tried to copy and paste it. I accidently hit paste and then back page not undo on the document. Bless google for allowing us to view every version of the piece we work on with the option to restore it. I had some heart palpitations, but eventually I got it back. I was so scared! 
> 
> Anyways enjoy! This chapter is a bit softer. :) 
> 
> Not Beta Read.

Jaskiers breathing has settled into a constant, steady rhythm. Warm breath puffs against his chest. He continues to hum in the silence of the dark labyrinth of corridors. He was a fool. How could he have assumed that things were getting better? Jaskier hadn’t been sleeping well. He wasn’t eating much. He played his lute when asked, but otherwise he either didn’t play at all or was composing nonstop. There was no inbetween in his actions.

He let out a long breath. Jaskier was a mess, damaged, and he had no idea what to do to help. The one thing he did know was that he couldn’t give up on the other. He had promised to stay and stay he would even if it hurt to watch Jaskier cry, to watch him shrink and wither, to turn grey and cold where once had been warmth and light. He needed to make the other man speak to him. He needed to know what Jaskier needed if he was to help him. 

As he continued to rub the musician's back he thought about what had been yelled at him. Jaskier was observant as always when it came to reading people. Geralt was a man of honor, he wouldn’t betray him like that. Still, he could understand what the bard was getting at, and of course jealousy was a vicious animal. And despite what Jaskier had said, Geralt couldn’t quite understand exactly what the problem was. Wasn’t he trusted to be a better man than that, at least by Jaskier? The answer, he thought, was yes I am. He and Yen had a very unique relationship, but surely, it was nothing that Jaksier needed to be concerned over. It wasn’t as if Geralt intended to sleep with her. Sure, it would be nice, but at what cost? poHe wondered if there was more to it than what had been said. There had to be. He resigned himself to the fact that he would simply have to ask the younger man. It wasn’t something that was extremely easy for him to do. There was nothing easy about any of this. 

He breathed in sharply. The stale air of the dusty corridor filling his lungs, it was tinted with mouse shit and other animal droppings, long since dead animals, and Jaskeir pressed against his side. The scent of sadness, fear, and pain clung to him masking his own scent of honeysuckle and warmth, sunlight in the damp woods, behind a bitter musk. Gently Geralt shifted and pulled the poet closer. He lifted him and held him close to his chest, bridle style, and set down the hallway back towards their chambers. 

He lit a candle on the bedside and lost himself to thought as he watched the shadows dance against Jaskiers face. He had been loath to move the man, but a bed would be better for him. It pained him to see the way his skin was taught and drawn in his face as he thrashed lightly in his sleep. 

Geralt rubbed at his eyes, what was he supposed to do? How could he help? Everytime he looked at Jask he saw the shadows under his eyes deepen, saw the way his clothes fit looser. He could tell the man was keeping himself together just barely, for Ciri’s sake probably more than his own. Perhaps to save face. No one knew the details of what had happened and how, no one but Yennefer and Triss who had tended to and seen all of his wounds. He and Eskel had a very good idea, but the details weren’t made known. Visions of what could have been flashed through his mind. Gruesome, vile images that would haunt him if he let them. He shook his head and forced his attentions’ elsewhere, speculation would help nothing.

Geralt for all his abilities could only stand by and watch as Jaskier wrestled with his nightmares, his fear, his pain. He couldn’t shield him from the depths of his own mind, couldn’t defeat the demons that lodged there, no matter how badly he wanted to. All he could do was tend to the symptoms of Jaskiers plague. He was a man of action, and right now he was limited in what he was allowed to do, either by himself or by Jaskiers response to his actions. 

He clenched his jaw. Jaskier had run from him, spurred on by memories, still he had run, though Geralt intended him no harm. He looked at his hand and fisted it, his fingers curling into his palm. His knuckles turned white with the effort and his nails bit into the flesh of his skin leaving crescents in their wake. What must Jaskier think of them, the witchers, now. Were they all disgusting, untrustworthy, vile creatures, like everyone else thought? Beings incapable of emotion, affection, or other redeeming quality? It wouldn’t shock him. Not anymore than being named a butcher had. These were all beliefs held by other humans, and perhaps now Jaksier thought them too. How could Jaskier trust him now, when his own self proclaimed family, had been the source of injury to his person? 

Jaskier whimpered, a high pitched whine, pulling him from his thoughts before he could truly injure himself. He hesitated, should he wake him or let him sleep through it? He compromised, if the dream seemed to settle he would let him sleep, if it worsened he would wake him. It faded and the contorted features of Jaskier’s face relaxed into a picture of serenity. With all the gentleness Geralt could museter into his calloused hands, he pushed a few locks of hair from his sweat damp forehead and placed a kiss there instead.    


“You’re safe Jask. Sleep.” He whispered, lips brushing against skin, before sitting back and absently running his hands through the others hair. He fell into a meditative state unintentionally, forcing himself to stay away from the thoughts that would inevitably lead him to a state of brooding or rage.    
  
Ciri did not join them that night, which is a relief to Geralt. Jaskier had had several intense nightmares which had resulted in him whimpering and screaming. Sometimes he would plead in his sleep, beg not to be hurt. Geralt had woken him during these, they were the worst. The result had been heart wrenching and agony to navigate. 

_ “Please. No, Stop. Please!” Jaskier fought against his blankets, kicking against them. His actions only resulted in them getting wrapped up tighter around him. His faced was screwed up tight, pain in the sharp just of his cheeks, the way his eyes were pressed tightly closed, and his lips were drawn into a tight line, so tight they were turning white, and looked like they might crack. Geralt had immediately reached out to wake the bard, but he’d recoiled even asleep from the touch, pushing away with his hands. When Geralt had exhausted every other method of waking Jaskier, he had finally leaned across the bed, pulled the blankets away roughly and shook him by his shoulders.  _

Now Jaskier is huddled up in the bed, the blankets returned to him. He had them pulled around him like a many layered cloak. They hid everything but his face, his hands clasping the fabric together just under his chin. Sweat beaded on his alabaster skin, the candle relit did nothing to make him look less like a freshly drowned corpse. Geralt sat, quiet and uncertain in the chair by the bed. He watched as Jaskier nervously bit at his lips, eyes flitting quickly through the shadows in the room, looking for something.    
  
“Jask?”   


The bard's blue eyes, cloudy with fear, turn to him, unseening. He swallows and blinks, like he's trying to figure out where he is. Gerlat watches him lick his lips.    
  
“S-Sorry. I.”   


“Don’t be sorry Dandelion.” The bard nods to him and drops his eyes. “You were having a nightmare. Are you… What can… Damn.” He looks away from Jaskier, suddenly shameful of his inability to communicate even after over two decades with him. He stares at his hands, fisted on his knees, as he sits forward just a little, hunched in on himself.    
  
“Come sit with me?” The timidity in Jaskiers voice makes him look up a little too fast. He nods, and slips his boots off before climbing onto the bed. Jaskier opens his blanket cloak and He climbs in beside him, wraps his arms around the smaller man, and holds the blanket closed. Jaskier settles instantly into his arms, relaxing. Color is coming back to his face. They fall asleep like that, hidden under blankets and resting against the headboard.    
  



	15. A hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesemir and Geralt take Ciri Hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a short chapter. I apologize that this one isn't longer. I'm trying to figure out where this story is going. I honestly had nothing beyond the first five chapters..... Sooo I'm not sure how it's going to continue. I forsee maybe 4 more chapters... ? Anyways this chapter is loosely based on the first time I went hunting with my dad and grandpa. It's just some fluff and bonding with Ciri as the focus. I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> If, you have suggestions of things you'd like to see happen in this fic let me know. :) I'd be happy to hear some ideas. I have a loose idea for an ending, and I can definitely write plenty more angst but I don't want to draw this fic out to long. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> As always I hope you enjoy and let me know if you notice any bad mistakes, this chapter is fresh off the press and not beta read.

The morning started like normal. She still had nightmares but they were less and less frequent and she had come to a place where she could shake it off, sing a lullaby to herself and go back to sleep. Sometimes she still crawled into Geralt and Jaskiers bed but it was always after unusually bad dreams. Her training left her so exhausted now that she slept through most nights anyways. She stretched in the darkness of her room, the barest rays of sun shining through a grimey window. She should really see about washing it.    
  
She dressed in her usual training clothes, leather that fit her well thanks to Triss. She had gone to a tailor with Ciri’s measurements and saw to it that she had clothes that would suit her well for training, lounging ( not that she had much time for that) and night clothes. She pulled on a pair of stockings then pulled down her trousers before putting on her boots, effectively trapping the material. She pulled on her belt and cinched it tight. She folded her jacket neatly over her arm. Her hair fell loosely just past her shoulders. She was going hunting with Vesemir today. It was her first hunt and Geralt and Vesemir had fought over it before Geralt finally said they should all go. Vesemir had agreed after a while. It wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of skilled eyes.    
  
Ciri was improving wonderfully. All persons present at Kaer Morhen could see and agree on it. It was nearing mid January now, and the snowfall had been unusually light. So light that Ciri was able to train in the outer courtyards; with all of the tools meant for training that were present and working. Ciri had not been outside the walls of the keep since she had arrived. Today Vesemir was going to show her the Trail, she had been running inside, learning to control her breathing. She would run up and down stairs, a series of corridors, but it wasn’t quite the same.    
  
She smiled as she entered the main hall. There were only two people present. She sat beside them at the table. Geralt gave her a small smile, the barest raise of his lips. She grinned back, and then smiled at Vesemir.   
“You have everything?” 

“I do,” she nods, and then digs into breakfast. It’s simple, eggs and bread. She takes a drink of water to swallow it down. 

They finish breaking their fast in silence. When they are finished they set out. The sun is just cresting the tops of the mountains, casting long shadows through the still dimly lit forest. They walk with near silence, save for a few minor mistakes from Ciri. She’s practiced hard in the keep but the woods are different. Still she has practice from her time spent running from Nilfgaard. She takes care to employ those skills. 

Vesemir takes the lead and Ciri follows six feet behind him, and Geralt six behind her. When they reached a clearing, ( not that clearing, though Ciri didn’t know where it was, Vesemir had led them away from it) they came to a stop. Ciri adjusts her sword, with silent, efficient ease. She wanted to bring a bow, but knew that her blade was more efficient for killing, and this was also a test of skill. In a way. Eventually she would be allowed to hunt by herself and as she saw fit.    
  
“I’ll go up and around. I’ll try to spook something down this way.” Geralt whispers to the two of them. Vesemir nods once, barely noticeable. Geralt moves off and it doesn’t take long before Ciri can’t see him anymore. She and Vesemir move to a more advantageous spot on the edge of the clearing. They are hoping to bring a lot home tonight so as to smoke, salt, and roast the meat. 

Ciri leans her weight on one foot. She’s bored, but keeps her eyes alert. She scans the edge of the woods and then deeper in, watching for the slightest movement. It’s a still day, there isn’t any wind. Finally she straightens and looks at Vesemir over her shoulder. He’s watching the other direction. She can hear chipmunks and squirrels making a ruckus in the trees. She turns her eyes to the front again and watches as one scurrys up a tree some 20 yards in front of her. She bites her lip. She knows she should be quiet but she wants to talk. She’s worried about Jaskier.    
  
Things have been better. They really have. Maybe Jaskier isn’t as cheerful as he normally is, and maybe he isn’t composing or singing, or playing as much. But he is writing almost daily in a journal. She’s seen him make an effort to join in on conversations. There is still distance between himself and Geralt and sometimes, he just goes off on his own. He takes naps in the middle of the day. There are dark circles under his eyes, from not sleeping enough which is why he naps. He hasn’t shaved in a while either, and a dark beard has come in on his face. He doesn’t smile quiet as large, but he does smile genuinely

“I can hear you thinking Cirilla.” Vesemir says, voice soft in the stillness. 

“I’m still worried.” She responds equally as quiet. Not turning to face him. 

“Jaskier?”   


“Yes.” 

“He’s doing better. I’m sure you’ve noticed. He doesn’t flinch when people reach out for him. He doesn’t startle as easily as he used to.”    
She starts to nod, and then stops, “I know, but...” Her voice trails off, she doesn’t know why she's so worried about him. He and Geralt are almost back to normal.    


“It takes time.” He says Gently turning to her and slotting an arm over her shoulders in a slight hug. She leans into the touch. Touch is rare here and she craves all of it she can.    


He removes his arm and nudges her gently. She looks up and sees a deer wandering into the clearing.    


They arrive just before sundown with two deer and four rabbits. Ciri carries the rabbits the deer, even gutted, are too heavy for her at this point. They carry their catch into the kitchen and set about preparing them to be skinned and butchered. When they finish, Ciri is sent to wash before supper.    
  
Jaskier isn’t at supper and she glances at the entrance to the halls. She looks around the faces, and notes that Geralt is talking about how well she did. He’s making a point of being proud of her. She smiles and leans into Geralt's side. 

_ “Madam, Yennefer?”  _

_ “Yes,” _ The enchantress looks at her, violet eyes observing her face. She holds the gaze. She's using telepathic communication. She’s been practicing.    


_ “Before lessons, may I check on Pa- Jaksier?”  _

_ “Yes.” _ The simple reply makes her smile larger.

Eskel asks her about the hunt so she tells him all about it. What she liked, what she didn’t. 

When she is excused from the table she determinedly seeks out Jaskier. He isn’t in his room, or the armory, or any of the communal places. Finally she heads back towards the library, where her studies take place. She smiles, Jaskier is curled up by the fire engrossed in a book. 

“Jaskier! Were you so busy reading you forgot to come to supper?” He looks up at her, setting the book aside gently. It’s old and looks like it might be trying to come unbound. 

“Oh. Have I?” His voice is a little hollow. “I suppose I’m not terribly hungry. How’d the hunt go.” He smiles and it reaches his eyes. She beams and sits lightly beside him.    
  
“I got bored. Honestly. We just stood there waiting for so looong. Geralt went up higher than grandfather and I and spooked a deer down. I missed the first time. But I got the second one and two rabbits! They moved so fast, I almost didn’t catch them. I had to throw my knife to get one of them. Geralt and Vesemir smiled at me. Real smiles, and Vesemir gave me a hug. It made me so happy. But I got cold very fast and almost had to come back early because I was shivering. So they showed me the trail and let me run for a while to warm back up, while they finished hunting. Gutting animals is gross.” She wrinkles her nose. She spoke fast and gesticulated wildly with her hands. She looked up at him at the end.    
  
“It sounds like you enjoyed yourself all in all.”   


“I did!” She leans into him and he pulls her close.    


“I’m glad for you. You're learning very quickly Ciri.” She pulls away a little and looks at him shyly.   
  
“Can you teach me how to sing more tonight?” She has given up on the lute for now, but has asked about singing. Jaskier had agreed with a smile.    
  
“We can work on your scales. It looks like Lady Yennefer is waiting for you. Best not keep her waiting too long.” He winks and sends her off with a kiss on the cheek. 


	16. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is feeling down and somehow Ciri is the one that he can talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! I am so sorry for the hiatus. I was finishing up my final semester of college! I am officially graduated. :)  
> Additionally, I have really struggled to be motivated to write. I apologize for that. Hopefully now that I have an idea about where this is going and so much free time on my hands I can continue to work and update this at a steady pace.  
> I finished reading the books which was part of my distraction if I'm honest and I've started the games. I suspect this finishing at around 21 chapters. :) 
> 
> Let me know if you have prompts you'd like me to work on after I finish this. I have no idea what I want to work on next. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sennextheassasinkingoflight 
> 
> Drop me a prompt, request, or ask. If you feel inclined leave a comment or kudos. :) Thank you all for your patience. I hope you are all well. <3
> 
> note: this chapter contains trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts and depression.

Jaskier stands from his bed, Geralt long gone to train Ciri. He groans as his shoulders and knee crack in painful protest. He rolls his neck and shrugs his shoulders in a poor attempt to loosen the muscles pulled painfully taut. He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face, fingers catching in the scraggly hair of his beard. He looks…. Hagard. His eyes are shadowed and look sunken like those of some many days dead corpse. The candle light flickers and pulls open the heavy drapes eclipsing the light from the small window. With a yawn he decided that it would be best for him to shave. Geralt and the others had given him looks and Ciri had stated her distaste plainly. His bare feet made little noise on the chilled stone floor. He approached the desk with sluggish movements, and rubbed at his eyes again. He washed his face and then prepared the shaving cream. With practiced movements, well remembered, he propped the mirror against the wall and lathered the cream on his face. 

‘How long had it been since he shaved?’ He wonders, ‘A month? That sounds about right.’  
Slowly he opens the straight razor and it shines in the light. He stops mesmerized by the distorted image of himself. It’s a much more accurate reflection of himself than the one in the mirror. He grinds his teeth and resumes his task. Deftly he draws the blade along his skin removing every trace of hair. He rinses the blade and repeats. Cut. Rinse. Repeat. Cut. Rinse. Repeat. Cut. Rinse. Repeat. Cut. Rinse. Blood. Repeat. The water turns pink and he looks at himself in the mirror, the white cream turns pink in the remnants of his beard. A nick on the side of his jaw. He watches as a thin rivulet of blood trickles in the path along his carotid artery. 

‘It wouldn’t be hard.” He swallows at the realization; touches the blade to his throat. He watches the way the muscles contract beneath it, the way his Adam's apple bobs. ‘It wouldn’t take much energy. The blade is sharp, it really would take much force.’ He changes the angle of the blade, tilts his head to one side. He casts an absent glance at the door. He draws the blade up. Cut. Rinse. Repeat. Steady, rhythmic, musical. He rinses the blade one last time and stares at it before he dries it and replaces it in its case. He wipes his face, rinses it from the remnants of the shaving cream. With a quick movement he wipes the blood from his chest and neck. He shakes his head and turns to get dressed. It isn’t the first time he has thought about it. He’s certain no one would notice right away, that he’d be dead when he was found. There were plenty of ways in the whole of Kaer Morhen to complete the task. A blade if he so chose, A high tower with rotten floors or weather loosened stones, plenty of old rope for a noose, or perhaps the simplest method, a Witchers potion. 

If he were entirely honest with himself the only reason he hadn’t followed through was because he loved Ciri, and did not wish this place to be anymore painful for her than it had already become. Less obvious to himself he had the tiniest glimmer of a sliver of silver hope. Hope that with time things would return to normal between him and Geralt, and he and the others.  
He smiled warrily to himself in the half morning light. Last night without prompting Geralt had held him close. While it didn’t seem like a big step it was. Though he feared what he would see if he had looked into his eyes then. Would they still hold pity, veiled disgusts, some unnamed emotion that twisted Jaskier’s gut until it was tied so tight he wasn’t sure it would ever come undone. Still, the contact was returning, and it was nice. They had recovered in tiny, sometimes nearly invisible steps, since he’d broken down in the corridors the previous month. 

Pulling on his boots he left the room and sought out Triss Merigold, who since the incident that had changed their life, had grown to become one of his closest friends. Though he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak with her, he was nearly out of his sleeping droughts and without them the nightmares often came too often and too vividly. He did not walk with determination, instead he meandered through the corridors trailing his fingertips against the stone walls, and watching the shadows dance on the walls.The uneven and rough edges of the stones caught on the groves of his fingers. If he focused he could almost make stories and music from the way that the crevices met. He approached the library with quiet footfalls and paused outside the door. She was speaking with someone.

“The two of them seem to be getting along better now. A long road awaits them the end of which has yet to be seen. Honestly, I think Ciri is one of the main reasons. She loves those two more than anything, and they love her. They're a family, even if they don’t see it. ” 

“I agree. I think that she is helping them move towards reconciliation. It’s good to see. The two of them can be far too self deprecating.” 

“Yen would agree I think.” 

“ Would she? I think that I should take offence to being talked about, and yet, somehow I don’t.” Jaskeir says lightly as he enters the room. He's too exhausted to really care what they think, and it isn’t as though they had been saying anything terrible about him. Instead they were expressing concern for both he and Geralt. He casts a glance around the room. Triss and Vesemir are sitting across from one another in an old set of chairs. They were sharing a pitcher of cider.

Triss smiled sweetly at him and offered him a glass. He accepted and waited for her answer, casting furtive glances between the mage and the witcher.

“She won’t admit it but she is worried about you two.”  
“Is that so. I wouldn’t have known.” He attempted to keep the venom from his voice but was not entirely successful. 

“You don’t care for Yen?”  
“I like her just fine. I just can’t always read her.” He sipped at his cider. It was a half truth, so he hoped Vesemir would not pick up on the partial lie. 

“There's more to it then that isn’t there.” The witcher laughed knowingly beside him, deep and from the chest.

Jaskier sighed. There was but what was he supposed to say? That he was jealous of the sorceress. That wouldn’t do. Could he honestly tell them that he was worried that Geralt and Yennifer would fall back into a relationship with one another. That he would lose Geralt and that would mean also losing Ciri. He couldn’t stand the idea. That thought plagued his mind far too often, it drove him to dark places. He shook his head as if the act would clear his thoughts. 

“It’s complicated.” He says to avoid conversation.  
“You're worried.” He looks away.  
“What could I possibly be worried about?”  
Vesemir shook his head and Triss frowned. They shared a knowing look.  
“Jaskier, he loves you. Trust him.”  
“I do.”  
“But not her?” He huffs crossing his arms. He feels far too vulnerable.  
“Easier said than done.”  
“She saved your life.” Vesemir supplies. “ That's worth something. Is it not?”  
“It is. I am grateful. However, gratefulness and trust don’t go hand in hand.”  
“Of course they don’t. Not when the one holding them is also jealous.” Triss suggests leaning forward in her chair to look him in the eyes. He looks away. Shame bubbles in his gut and tinges his cheeks a faint pink. 

“Can we discuss something else?” He says glancing between the two of them.  
“Certainly,” Triss begins softly, “ I imagine you had a specific reason for coming to see me.”  
“Only to talk really.”  
“Any new works?” Vesemir asks, “ Find any new inspiration?”  
“Some. Mostly I’ve been working on editing and polishing some of the stuff that I did before we came here, and the earlier days.”  
“Have you completed any of them.”  
“One or two.” He smirks.  
“You’ll have to give us a performance!” Triss says cheerfully standing up and going to her work table. “I have another draught for you and one for Ciri. Do you want them now?”  
“Yes please. I’ll take them to our rooms. Excuse me.” He left the room and allowed his smile to drop. 

With a blank face and a dazed mind he returned to their rooms. He added his new draught to the top of the dresser with his empty and nearly empty vials. He should really return those to Triss and Yennefer. Shaking his head he glances around the room. It’s utterly disorganized and it is mostly his belongings. His clothes are heaped into a pile in one corner. His writing utensils and other personal effects scattered across the table and dresser. He frowns. Geralt likes things organized. There is no way that their current room situation was helping any of their problems. With a sigh he set about straightening the room. He didn’t hum as he worked. Instead his work was conducted with a solemn air. He returned his clothes to the wardrobe, smoothed, outside right, and folded accordingly. 

He straightened his papers and placed them in their appropriate notebooks. Organized his inkwells and quills. His pencils and spare parchments he placed on top of the notebooks. He cast one more look around the room and decided to make the bed. It didn't take long to straighten the sheets and the furs. He replaced the pillows on top. He would Triss the empty vials in a moment. He needed to take Ciri her new draught. She should be with the witchers training. He had likely missed breakfast, but he wasn’t terribly hungry. He had been focusing hard on each individual task, focusing and avoiding stray thoughts. 

Leaving the room he knocked on Ciri’s door before entering her room. He startled when she opened the door. She grinned at him.  
“Jaskier!’ She addresses him happily and then cocks her head. “Whats up?”  
“Triss gave me another draught for you… If you need it. Are you still having nightmares?”  
“Not really. I'm so tired by the end of the day, after all the training that I sleep all through the night.”  
“That's very good to hear.” He smiles genuinely. It’s a soft smile, small. She smiles back at him.  
“Papa?” She asks after a moment of silence in which Jaskier had stared past her. “What's wrong?”  
“Nothing Cirilla. It’s nothing.”  
“I don’t believe you!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug.  
He spluttered trying for an answer. He opened his mouth and closed it. Apparently lying was not his strong suit. Instead he brought his arms up and hugged her back. He brushed his fingers through her hair. When she finally pulled away she looked up at him, green eye beaming and full of worry and curiosity.  
“Please tell me.” He hadn’t told Triss, Vesemir, Geralt or any of the others anything. So why did he feel like he could tell Cirilla. Like that would be okay and safe when the others weren’t. She was a child. He should protect her from all of these things, all the thoughts in his mind, the pain in his heart, and yet…  
“Ciri.” He whispered and kissed her forehead. “Dear sweet Ciri.”  
“Please Papa.” He looked at her for real then and sighed deeply.  
“Let's take a walk.” 

They walked steadily through the many halls of the keep, some crumbling and cold, others dark and damp, some dry. Finally when they were a long way from everyone else when he finally spoke. He had used the time to formulate what he would say. He wanted to be careful not to fill Ciri with more worry or doubt about anyone. 

“Ciri, I feel weak. I suffered a trauma as you well know, and I know that you too have suffered traumas. And yet, you have gotten stronger and braver. You face your fears and you train hard. I-I’m not like that. My weapons are words and melodies. I don’t know how to tell Geralt that I’m struggling. I don’t want the others to see me as being incapable, weak, just “a bard”. I’m ashamed that I haven’t moved past this even though it’s been months. I want more than anything for things to go back to how they were. I know that that is a fairytale, I know. Still… it’s what I want. And….. and I am scared that it might happen again.” 

CIRI

Ciri listened quietly as he went on. She might not understand everything he meant but what she did understand was that he was scared that he was too weak and that people wouldn’t respect him. That he was ashamed that he got hurt because he felt like he couldn’t defend himself even though he had tried. That he was worried Geralt was angry with him more than anything. He hadn’t used those words but that was the implication. So she did the only thing she could think of.  
“Why don’t I teach you how to use a sword in secret? I’ll teach you what Geralt and everyone else teaches me.” 

She watched with large green eyes as Jaskier considered it. 

“I know,” she continued, “that it isn’t the best solution but then you don’t have to worry about being hurt again. And you can be strong and a re, ra, respectable man. No one else needs to know anything.” 

He licked his lips. Hesitating he breathed out one word:

“Okay.”


	17. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri and Jaskier start training. It goes from their. Chaos will ensue in following chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to get this one up. I had to take a trip to visit my great grandfather. He is in hospice care. So as the eldest child I've had to help out my parents since they are taking care of him. ANYWAYS: I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. I was shooting for something a little longer and a little more light hearted. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and feelings? 
> 
> I hope to work on this more regularly now... I will be going back to work and writing is my outlet sooo maybe that will help me get back on a schedule..... 
> 
> Oh and I almost forgot! I am Officially an Alumni now! ( Just don't ask me to really really edit my own work. XD)

CIRI

Training with Jaskier turned out to be a lot of fun. Well it would have been if she hadn't needed to lie to Geralt, Vesemir, Coen, Lambert, Eskel, Triss, and Lady Yennefer. That part wasn't very fun. It had taken them about a week to devise a way to sneak around the others. Ciri would claim that she wanted to take up the lute again but was too nervous and embarrassed to try and learn infront of everyone so she would ask Jaskeir to teach her in private. Sneaking a couple of training swords in and out of the armory was a difficult task, however Ciri with her new found knowledge had guessed accurately which blade would best suit Jaskier. Thus, there wasn’t much trial and error, allowing them to be much quicker and effective in their thieving. 

Jaskeir had argued that they needed to keep it all a secret because he didn't want to take away from everyone else teaching Ciri. That was their first priority and she needed it for the future to stay safe and protected. Ciri had raised her eyebrows at him, but agreed. Jaskier had gone on saying it was also because he would be embarrassed to learn from the witchers. He was slow and a full grown man, it wouldn't be the same as training a young girl. He would be expected to have some skills in the area already. He had none. Despite having grown up in the nobility and being a viscount he had never seen the point in taking any lessons in fencing or any other kind of physical activity. 

The first week had been incredibly difficult. They had needed to find a secluded but spacious spot to practice that wasn't too far from everyone so they could be back quick and spend as much time as possible practicing, but far enough away not to be heard or smelled, in short avoided by the others. They had found a location that worked suitably well. Well, Crir had, Jaskier has simply agreed that she was correct, praising her for being brilliant. She had preened. They had spent the week not actually training but locating the supplies needed to create one or two makeshift dummies to practice on. Jaskier didn't need to fight like a witcher but he did need, he felt, to be able to defend himself almost as well as one. There was no way he could train in the training ground without being found out. 

Ciri brought an old empty barrel from the kitchen cellar. It was slightly rotten. They had placed old straw in an equally old burlap sack on top of that with a broken bucket on the top for a head. They had named him Tom. Tom the training buddy. They had managed to find the supplies for a second dummy and they named her Trina. The other would have laughed at them for naming their dummies, but it made them laugh and lightened the atmosphere. It was something they needed. Day to day life with the witchers was far too serious and morose. And while Jaskeir loved Geralt and got along with everyone he thought they desperately needed some cheer. 

It was decidedly much more fun to train with Jaskier than it was to train with the others, especially Lambert. Lambert was strict and sometimes mean. But she learned a lot from him, when he felt like teaching her that is. Vesemir had a lot of tips and a lot of practice teaching so he was easiest to understand. She cocked her head and laughed. Jaksier was trying but his stance was terrible. How would Vesemir or Lambert correct him. She wasn’t sure and decided it didn’t matter. He had asked her to teach him and she definitely was not one of them and wouldn’t teach like one of them. Instead Ciri smiled. 

"Knees Papa. Knees and feet." 

Jaskier looked down and then furrowed his brow in concentration, the tip of his tongue sticking out. He frowned. He shifted until his feet were shoulder width apart, and his left leg was a half a pace in front of his left. Then he bent his knees so that the wright was distributed more evenly, resting primarily on the balls of his feet. He looked back up at her and she smiled and nodded her approval. Then she charged him, intent on knocking him over. She succeeded multiple times that day. He stood and rubbed his bottom. 

“This part really sucks.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“It must be miserable training with the brutes.”

“Oh only when they decide to laugh when I get frustrated.”

They spent the whole week working on not allowing an opponent to knock you over, keeping your balance. 

Ciri improved in her everyday training too. It helped to teach someone she realized. It made it so much easier to understand what she was doing. Made it clearer. She was up on the balance beam today. Jaskier watched from the balcony. He had taken to observing her during training more. She smiled up at him and then nodded to Geralt that she was ready to start. She ran the length of the beam dodging obstacles, projectiles, and hitting dummies with her blade. She managed a couple of jumps, a backflip from which she nearly slipped. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt her right foot miss, she tightened her core muscles and those in her left leg. Leaning forward she pulled her right leg up and planted it firmly behind her. Less than three second later she dodged another projectile by leaning backwards. She let her hands touch the beam behind her before standing back up, and knocking the next one away with her blade. She was to slow and it caught her in the shoulder. She didn't recover and fell three feet to the ground. 

"Ouch." She grumbled as she rubbed her shoulder, then her bum. "That hurt."

"You did well." Geralt nodded at her before offering a hand to pull her the rest of the way to her feet. "Take a minute and we'll try again. That was a good recovery." 

She felt her lips twitch up into a smile. Her shoulder and her butt ached but she had done well and she knew it. Adrenaline ran heavy in her veins. Taking a deep breath she stretched her shoulders and her legs. She didn't want to tense up on the beam. Eventually she would work on the higher one but not until she could do the lower beam without falling off for the entire session.   
She resumed her position on the beam shortly after.   
\-------------  
"Ciri, are you certain that you feel up to this? We don't have to if you'd rather rest before your lessons with Triss and Yennefer."

"Of course I am! I want you to be... hmmm… uh...happy again?" 

"Ciri..." He nodded at her. "Okay. What are we working on today?"

"You are going to learn how to swing a sword." She giggled at his expression. 

"Ciri, I know how to swing a sword. That's pretty simple isn't it. You just hold this end tightly and," he swung his sword knowingly with raised eyebrows. 

"No. No no. Papa. you'll wear your arms out swinging it like that. You have to use your whole body." 

"Like this?" Jaskier swung around in circles wiggling his hips and arms haphazardly. Ciri grinned and they both fell into a fit of laughter. When they finally recovered from their   
laughter, eyes wet with tears and sides splitting Jaskier finally managed to speak. 

"Okay miss show off, how am I supposed to do this." Ciri picked up her own practice sword and showed him in slow motion. Suddenly serious and with determination in her steps she looked at him and spoke.

"You have to use all of your body. Your feet, hips, shoulders, arms, and wrists. if you step forward then you want to twist and your hips on a sideways swing to inflict maximum damage and carry it through with your shoulders utilizing the momentum from your hips."

They spent that afternoon practicing the motion. Over and over and over again. Jaskier was only beginning to get it when there was a cough from the doorway.   
Both swords clattered to the ground as their users jumped back as though they had been bitten by some kind of snake. 

"We weren't doing anything!" Both parties shouted in unison. Triss laughed. 

"No of course not. You're not doing anything which is why you're 45 minutes late for your lesson." Ciri ducked her chin to her chest and frowned. 

"Triss, please don't be upset with her. This is my fault." Jaskier stepped in. Ciri looked over to him.

TRISS

Triss smiled sweetly.  
"How could I be angry? If there was ever a reason to be late teaching you swordplay is a pretty good one. Though maybe not as good as if you'd been lost exploring the keep."

"You... you won't tell anyone will you?"Jaskeir asked, trepidation coloring his voice. He sounded morose, sullen, and only slightly hopeful to her ears. 

"No, of course not. Now, is this what you've been doing instead of learning to play the lute for the last two and half weeks?" 

"Yes." They both answered nervously.

“Very good. Ciri your lucky Yennefer had to leave suddenly, or else this whole situation would be different.”

Ciri nodded. “I know. “ 

“Well, Ciri why don’t I straighten everything up and you go to your lesson?” 

“Can you get the swords back?” 

They stare at each other.

“You really think someone will notice if they don’t get put back tonight?” 

“No… I don’t think so… no one does inventory.”

“I agree, it will probably be fine, and besides I want to teach Ciri something special tonight. And you should probably come up with a very good reason for the two of you to have missed supper.” She raises her eyebrows, giving her an air of authority that maybe she doesn’t really have but Jaskeir nods.

“I’m certain that I can handle that.” 

“Triss, uhm Thank you for not being upset and for promising not to tell anyone. I appreciate it more than I think I can express at this moment.”   
She simply smiles at him and guides Ciri to the library. She has a snack ready for her there. 

JASKIER

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He’s very hungry for once so he fixes himself a plate and plops into the chair beside Geralt. It’s one of many open seats. He doesn't interrupt the conversation and instead pops some bread in his mouth. 

“What?” He asks defensively, they have all fallen quiet and are staring at him. 

“Were you exercising?” Eskel finally asks from across the table.

“Are you saying I stink?”

“No! No, not at all Jaskier…. It’s just uhm, you look flushed.” Geralt says not so subtly wrinkling his nose. 

“For your information, Ciri and I got distracted in our practicing and I showed her that I can in fact march in place while reciting a ballad and playing from memory while blindfolded.” 

Lambert nearly chokes. 

“Care to demonstrate?” He wheezes.

“Ask me some other time, once in a night is more than enough for me. She is relentless.”

“Stubborn, more like.” Coen adds.

“Determined” Eskle corrects.

“A woman.” Vesemir states dryly. 

“All of that and she spends too much time with Geralt.” They laugh. They drink. Eventually Geralt rests his hand on Jaskeirs thigh and he leans into it. The evening continues on light hearted and …. Dare he say nice. Still he can’t help the nagging thought at the back of his mind. Try as he might to shove it away the whisper echos. “ You’re lying to them all. What do you think will happen when they find Jaskier? You know they will find out. You can’t lie forever.” He takes a drink of his ale and leans closer to Geralt who absently slings an arm around him. If lying is what it takes to be stronger then that is what he will do.


	18. A Witcher’s Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesimir is supposed to be training with Ciri. There is only one problem. She’s not there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I’m so sorry for the hiatus. I was dealing with medical and mental health conditions, attending a couple weddings, and I am currently in the process of moving and finding a job! 
> 
> Anyways I hope you are all well! Thank you for sticking with this story and I hope to be writing more consistently again since it’s Hauntober and NaNo is next month. It has me in the mood and the practice of writing again. :) 
> 
> Also I apologize if this chapter is wonky, I used my phone to type and upload. :/

Comforted by the fact that the armory was no longer in regular use, Ciri and Jaskier let their guard down. They began leaving their training weapons in their training room. They no longer endeavored to be as silent in training as possible. 

Triss Merigold, often watched their lessons and would even allow Ciri to take time from her own lessons to continue a lesson with Jaskier. In the last two weeks, he had improved. The troubadour was now capable of holding his own in a one on one fight. In total they had been training hard every day for a month. Spring was quickly approaching and they both had much to learn. 

Ciri continued her daily training and was now allowed to practice on the high beam. She excelled at keeping her balance, and was quite agile and acrobatic. She often escaped her theory lessons to practice in a more hands on manner. So long as she was quiet she could leave the library without waking Vesemir and could flawlessly avoid the other witchers by taking a secret route through the keep. 

Triss MariGold alongside Lady Yennefer continued her efforts in tutelage of the young princess when she was not taking time from their lessons to encourage the recovering bard. More often than not she found that she did not want to leave and attend to her other engagements, but that she rather enjoyed the misfit little family she had become a part of. Likewise she had developed the most intricate and amusing friendship with Jaskier. The two often bickered, but never in a way that caused true pain. To anyone else their words would have been unkind or inappropriate, but between the two of them they brought laughter and good cheer. 

Yennefer took her tutoring of Ciri much more seriously, though in truth while she seemed rough and strict on the outside, holding Ciri on a tight reign, she harbored a sweet spot for the girl. As the months had gone on and the days slowly began to grow longer she more and more considered Ciri to be something of a daughter, and Ciri of her as a mother. The training was arduous but Ciri showed excellent progress for having studied only a short amount of time. This was not a revelation as Triss and she had determined that she was a source. Ciris natural talent however was not enough to get her through all her lessons. This information was determined when it came to light that not all of Ciris nightmares were indeed nightmare but instead premonitions and at times prophecy. Yennefer continued to spend time with Geralt and the other witchers, but found that she walked a thin line between being Jaksiers friend and his rival. She attempted to maintain a level of formality with Geralt to ease the musician's fears. 

Geralt noticed the mage's behaviour and was secretly grateful. While he didn’t know the best way to attend to his lover, he could discern that adding stress, perceived threats, and familiar stability would be his best option. So that's what he did. He returned to behaving as normally as possible. Still, when Jaskier jumped at his touch or his heart raced unnaturally, or his breath shuddered, it kindled the anger that resided deep in the witcher. After many uncomfortable conversations with Vesemir, Triss, and Jaskeir himself, Geralt determined it would also be beneficial to employ techniques such as casual touch, reassurance on a regular basis, and by Jaskier explicit request, that “Geralt stop treating me like I’m going to break. You don’t have to ask if you can hold me. I’ll tell you if I don’t want you to do something, just listen to me when I do.” Furthermore he was incredibly proud of Ciri and struggled to get the words out. He was certain that she knew how he felt, if her smile was anything to go by. The girl was a prodigy.   
They spent any unoccupied time together working on various projects, playing gwent, and discussing the best methods for monster hunting. 

Vesemir simply watched as this all occurred. This was his pack. There were moments that he did not know entirely what course of action he should take, if any. It had started when he had been sent word of Ninrins poor behavior and conduct. He had retrieved the man in question and been ordered, (despite the fact that the witchers answered to no one authority) to hold him at the keep until it could be determined if he was at fault for the rapes and murders of several villagers of various ages and genders. He had been livid to say the least. Ninrin had not stayed a winter at the keep for a great many years via unspoken agreement. He and Geralt had never gotten along and that fact only grew brighter with every passing year. Of course it couldn’t be so simple as being prepared to make sure the two didn’t kill one another. 

Instead it was exasperated by Geralt bringing not one but two extra bodies to winter in the keep. Against his better judgment he had allowed them both to stay. The girl because she was Princess Cirilla and Geralt's child surprise. The Bard, because it was obvious from their behavior and body language that there was more than a friendship present between them. It had been quickly revealed that his suspicions were correct. He did not speak his concerns allowed, in his old age came some wisdom. He would not spread discord among his “children”. 

Even so it became readily apparent that very first night, that his hope for a peaceful winter had completely disintegrated like sand in the wind. Cirilla had been threatened by Ninrin, Ninrin by Geralt, and the result had been tragedy, and a justifiable homicide. Ninrin had assaulted Jaskier and nearly killed him. He had also threatened princess Cirilla. His life was claimed as recourse for his wrongs, by the very man who he intended to harm the most. 

At that point Vesemir was left with no choice but to accost Geralt in front of the others, though he had no intent of punishing the boy. The meeting had gone about as well as it could have. Geralt and the others did not believe him to be at fault, and had agreed to defend him should anyone think that he had simply murdered another witcher in cold blood. 

The addition of two mages to teach the princess had further tired the old man. And yes, he even admitted that to himself. He was getting old. The keep was the fullest this winter it had been in a very long time, and he was grateful for their presence. It had been their skills that had saved the bard, which had in turn kept Geralt from going on a self-destructive rampage as he was known to do. Cirilla was a gem, learning quickly, and practicing regularly, Her memory was sharp, and her tongue sharper. If he was being honest he would miss her when spring came. 

He sat back in his chair and watched the flames dance in the hearth. Yes this winter had been trying, but all things considered there had been a lot of good too. Still, he worried for Geralt, for Jaskier, and Ciri. What would be in store for them when they left the keep? Would Jaskier ever fully recover? Would Geralt return to traveling on his own? When the other sorcerers discover that Cirilla is a source will they seek her out? 

He worried for the others as well, but not nearly as much. They would travel together for a while before going their own ways, and despite the tragedies that had occurred none of them were so scared by it as the three he was currently considering. 

He was amazed by Geralt's having come to him. The boy had swallowed his pride and asked for advice, then amazingly he had listened. It had been painful watching their interactions, but Vesemir was resigned to doing nothing that he wasn’t explicitly asked to do. They were grown men and would work it out sooner or later, however after the “Starling” incident he had hoped that Geralt would seek help. It turned out that he had come to Vesemir and then to Triss. 

2 Weeks ago, (The day that Triss found out Jaskier and Ciri were training in secret.) 

A knock had woken him from his nap. He glanced around the room quickly and found that Ciri had abandoned her studies at some point after he had nodded off. 

“Enter” he called, and walked to the window. 

“Vesemir, I… Where is Ciri?”

“Down below, she’s training on the beam.” 

“You fell asleep didn’t you.”

“I was only resting my eyes. But she’s quiet as a mouse. I didn’t even hear her.” 

“That she is.” Geralt had joined him on the balcony to watch the girl in the courtyard. 

“So, what is it you need Geralt?” 

The younger witcher's eyes never left the courtyard, they were trained on the girl and the poet encouraging her.

“I- uh- I need advice.” He said gently, the words got caught in his throat and he had to repeat them a couple times. 

“ I see.” 

Silence reigned between them. 

“He will never be how he was. You have to accept that before you can move forward. There are parts of him that are forever changed. But he’s still the man you love… you do love him right? Or is it just a convenience?”

“I do… love him.” 

“Then you need to be consistent, constant. He seems to like reassurance and touch. Talk to him Geralt. Find out what he wants, and from that discern what he needs. And I know it's not one of your natural strong suits, but be patient with the man, Geralt.” 

“Right.” 

“He’s already told you what he wants?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why are you hesitating?”

He watched as Geralt looked on and then in a moment of bravery, looked him in the eyes and spoke, 

“ I’m scared of making a mistake and losing him.” 

“Idiot, boy. He knows you. If you attempt to do what he needs then he will be appreciative. I doubt he would leave just because you screw up. It’s been 22 years by your side. I repeat. He knows you. And I’m certain you’ve messed up a good number of times by now.” 

Geralt grit his teeth and left. Shaking his head, Vesemir turned to resume watching the acrobat below. 

Now:

Vesemir stood from his chair and stretched, joints popping. He groaned. He really was getting old and the snow storm was causing his joints and muscles to stiffen. It was mid morning and he had agreed to spar with Ciri today. Leisurely he made his way to the training ground. Ciri was yet to be seen. It was unusual for her to be late. The courtyard was empty and the mid afternoon light was barely entering the space having paced over it when the sun reached its zenith. While he waited for both the sun to shine and Ciri to arrive, he made his way to the storage shed to retrieve a training blade.

Pausing he took in the sight that greeted him. According to Eskel the room had been left in excellent condition with the training swords to the immediate left of the door. He was certain there should have been more than two. Perhaps Eskel had decided they needed some repairs and removed them from storage to be tended to. As it was Ciri and the others were training hard at regular intervals. He made a mental note to ask when he saw the man next. 

While he waited for Ciri to arrive, Vesemir stretched out his stiff and aching muscles with a well practiced ease. As the light continued to fade he grew more and more impatient. Puinctuality was important and Ciris lack thereof had him strangely bothered this afternoon. It was one of the many attributes they had drilled into her early in her training. He determined that he would practice one more routine before he went looking for her. And when he found her she would get the scolding of a lifetime. 

He started in the main hall, then the infermory where he located Eskel and Lambert getting stitches from Triss. He decided not to disturb them. He continued to the kitchen where he found Coen and Geralt tending to the food and brining in fire wood. 

“Have either of you seen Cirilla?”  
Coen shook his head and looked at Geralt. 

“Not since this morning? Maybe she is with Jaskier.”

“I’ll go looking. If you see her, tell her to wait for me in the great hall.” 

Two stern nods were the only response he received. 

Vesemir we checked the bedrooms, the bathing hall, and the library to no avail. His disatisfaction and disappointment were quickly turning into anger. Determined to locate the princess he began walking down corridors that should have been long since forgotten. However, his eyes picked up on fresh footprints and scratches in the dirty pathway. It seemed that this corridor was being used often. 

Intrigued he followed the path of three footprints and two turns later began to here the faint clanking of metal in metal. As he drew closer he could here the ragged breathing of exsursion and drag of a foot on cobblestones. He reached the end of the footprints at a closed door and listened. 

Inside he heard Triss encouraging both Jaskier and Ciri as the sound of swords continued. 

“Ouch!” Ciri’s cry was mufflers by the door. 

“I’m sorry! Did I hurt— ahhh!”

“Never let your guard down.” 

“She got you Jaskier.” 

“Damn it. And here I thought I was getting better!”

He smiled. So that was where the training swords had gone. He couldn’t be to angry could he? About Ciri not being where she said she would be yes. About Ciri teaching Jaskier? No. 

He took a moment to compose himself and entered the room. Everything came to a grinding, clattering halt. Jaskier dropped his sword which landed on Ciri’s head as she attempted to move behind him to hide from the opening door. Triss simply stared. Several moments passed before anyone spoke or moved. 

Vesemir ignored the entire scene, looked directly at Ciri and said, 

“Witcher’s keep their word. If you say you will be somewhere then be there. Now come song Ciri we were supposed to be training this afternoon.” 

With that he left the room smiling. He heard Ciri follow after him quickly, her heart racing. 

When they were a few halls down he looked over his shoulder. 

“You’re doing a good thing. Keep it up. But don’t be late again. It might not be me who comes looking for you.”


	19. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had a lotnofnthoights, but none of them are said allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, hi. Long time no see. I'm still alive, promise, and I haven't given up on this. Life has just been...... wild? 
> 
> Anyways, no guarantee for regular updates for which I apologize. I currently dont have internet and have to use my phone to write ,edit, and upload. So, I apologize for any and all mistakes. If there are major errors please let me know and I'll do my best to edit them. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jaskier turned and looked at Triss who burst out laughing. Shock and abject horror were plastered upon his features giving him the look of a petrified possum. He felt the all to familiar pull of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. He felt like a child hiding from his father all over again. He didn't hear Triss laughing anymore. He gasped for air, swallowing hard. Would Vesimir say something to Geralt, tell the others? Would Ciri get in trouble for this? Would he?

His face flushed. He was embarrassed. He looked at Triss then back at the empty doorway and back. Triss smiled and reassured him,  
"I don't think he will say anything. If he intended to he would have done it know Jaskier."   
He wasn't sure he believed her, but nodded anyways. He had admonished Ciri immediately, he would have done the same to him if he had anything to say. 

Triss laughed again, completely missing what was happening to him,  
" You look like another bard just stole your best song as their own."   
He opened his mouth to retort and then shook his head, what would he even say? Instead he watched her shake her head and go as he knelt to pick up the swords. He would clean them and put them up properly. 

Deliberately he took his time. He watched as the sun slanted steeper and steeper through the window. He should go to the dining hall. He knew that. He knew, logically that Vesimir would not yell. Likely, as Triss said, he wouldn't say anything to anyone. He sighed loudly through his nose and forced himself to step towards the door. He stopped and regarded it like it was some evil spectre. 

His feet felt like they were manacled to ball. He swallowed and sat down instead. He couldn't do it. He couldn't go to dinner and sit next to everyone with his secret exposed to the one who could change everything by calling him out on it.   
What if everything went fine and then Vesimir brought it up? What could he say. Geralt would be disappointed that he hadn't just come to him in the first place. 

He absently picked at his nails. He tried to force the stray thoughts from his mind but they wouldn't go. More often than not he latched on to them. Follow them into their inky depths. He shivered. His father had done those kinds of things, as far as he was concerned most all fathers did. Figure heads or not. He couldn't. Wouldnt walk into the possibility of it. He wouldn't willingly where there was pain and uncertainty. How had he made it as a bard for so long?

His fingers bled. He stared at them, it stung. It was familiar. He tore at the nail until it broke too short. Biting at his cuticles his mind wandered to how little had actually changed. Sure, theoretically he could hold his own with a sword now. At least against a girl half his size. He laughed ruefully. He was a fool. He'd been lying to everyone, but mostly to himself. What did it matter if he could hold a sword? The problem was his mind. 

The taste of copper in his mouth nudged him to a different train of thought. He didn't need to look to know he'd chewed the entire nail from his hand. He hadn't done that in some time. Not since he'd started playing the Lute, that he could recall at least, but habits like that didn't just come and go. It should hurt something terrible. It didn't. He simply stared at it, legs numb beneath him as he looked around the room for the first time in hours.

" Damn, if Geralt comes looking for me…" 

He shook his head. Did it matter?   
No. It didn't. If Vesimir had spoken, said anything, then the result would be the same. Slowly he stretched his legs in front of him. That did sting. Thousands of pin pricks all over his legs. His knee smarted fiercely. 

He pushed himself up with the help of the bench and reacquainted himself with standing. He looked out the window, it was to dark to see anything. 

Had anyone noticed his absence? Cared about it? Logically he knew they would have, unfortunately his feelings told him something else. The sound of someone clearing their throat startled him back into reality.

"You didn't come to super." Vesimir stated.

His voice only loud enough to be heard. It didn't hold any negative emotion from what Jaskier could discern and he was usually so good at reading people. His career depended on that ability, but here at the keep it was highly unreliable. 

"Wasn't hungry." He replied with a shrug.

" You were missed." Vesimir responded, 

Jaskier heard, "You should have come anyways."

"Doubt it." He muttered almost silent, Vesimir heard anyways, Jaskier pitched his voice up and said "I'm sure conversation happened without me. I might be a great instigator, but I'm not wholly necessary, now am I?"

What he meant was, "Don't lie to me. Everyone was more comfortable without out me."

Vesimir regarded him for a moment, then walked over to the training swords. He flipped one in his hand and held it by the blade. 

"Show me what she taught you. She's good, a threat even, but you should learn against someone that poses a little more of a threat. More of a challenge if you want it to make a bigger difference."

Jaskier turned toward the old Witcher. He blinked. 

"What?" 

"I'm going to train you properly. I don't know why Geralt didn't. But he should have. You should know how to defend yourself if your going to travel with a Witcher, especially now with the war." Vesimirs eyes flicked to the bleeding ends of the bards fingers, he frowned. That wouldn't do at all. "Later," he told himself, "one thing at a time."

Jaskier blinked and slowly took the hilt in hand. His face flushed and he looked to the ground. 

"He tried. I uhm, didn't take it seriously." He swallowed, flushing harder at the memories, and praying that he wouldn't be asked to elaborate. 

" I see. Well, take you're stance. Well start practicing after dinner under the brush of me telling you old witcher stories."

Jaskier met his eyes for the first time since he entered. He nodded sharply and balanced his weight.


	20. Training is more thought than action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesimir and Jaskier have a discussion after training. Jaskier makes a hard decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, hi again. Back pretty quick with the next chapter. I dunno what happened I just got nsinpired to keep working on this. So have another chapter. I'm working on the next one as we speak. 
> 
> Again I'm using my phone so if its formatted funny, or there are bad errors, please let me know so I can adjust it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, sticking with me, and most of all I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> If you feel like leaving feedback, I love to hear it.

He landed on his ass. Okay yeah, of course he was going to lose to Vesimir. But, maybe… maybe he'd get somewhere. They'd been at it for a week and yes, Cirilla had prepared him well, but that was nothing compared to a weathered and practiced Witcher. He sighed picking himself off the ground. His fingers hurt. Geralt had been very concerned about the state of his hands when he'd finally gone to get some super. Jaskier had told him they were fine and pointedly changed the subject. 

Across the room from him Vesimir waited for him to take his stance again. He did, and the two went back and forth. He was improving, the old man had said as much himself. Still Jaskier wondered how much this would actually help.

He felt closed off from everyone. Lonely in rooms filled with people. It settled over him like a familiar blanket. It was always worse for him in the winter, but this winter in particular was so much harder. His knee clicked and he fumbled to the right in an attempt to correct his posture. He regained his balance but not before taking a smack to his ribs with the broad side of Vesimirs sword. 

He sat down and rubbed circles into his knee. It was getting worse, or maybe he was using it more so he noticed it more. Either way, it was discouraging. He stretched it out and continued massaging it.

"Should we call it a night?" 

Absently Jaskier nodded. He didn't move, frustration boiled in his chest. Henrubbed a hand against his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat. He found that Vesimir understood him the best, and hiding anything from the old man had been a ridiculous plan. 

The witcher settled across from him. Neither spoke for a long time. The wind blew harshly against the stone building and Jaskier shoveled slightly as chilled air touched his fevered skin. The torches flickered ominously against the wall casting shadows around the room.

"Do you think this is actually helping me, Vesimir?" His voice was quiet, it barely broke the stillness of the room and portrayed nothing of what he felt. 

" I think it will help you feel like less of a burden. Which will help you feel more like a partner." The older man responded. 

Jaskier nodded, focused on watching his fingers prod at his knee.

" Do you think I'm a fool."

"Hardly. Perhaps you make some foolish decisions but that does not make you a fool, in the same vain as Geralt protecting the people of Blavikan does not make him a murderer."

He ground his teeth. The man was using his own logic to comfort him. It was nice, and simultaneously incredibly unsettling. 

"Those arn't the questions you really want to ask though, are they."

He shook his head, a hoarse "no" leaving his throat. 

Vesimir waited in the silence for him. He wasn't sure how long it had taken him to finally speak.

"He said things to me. Things that I already questioned, already doubted in my mind, and he spoke of them like they were so obvious." He swallowed and continued, brushing his hand against his eyes again, "Its pathetic isn't it? That I doubt aspects of my relationship with Geralt, before all of this, and especially now. And I want to be here for Ciri but I have no idea what I'm doing. My childhood wasn't exactly a good one."

"It isn't pathetic Jaskier. We all have doubts, we all question our ability, our loyalties, our faith. The only thing "pathetic" is that your fear that he'll hate you for talking to him about them. He's not good with, well you know, any human interaction. That isn't strictly true, he's guarded about his interaction with him and. But he let you in. He trusts you, extend that back to him.  
Now ciri. Well, I'm not sure I'm much help there, but I imagine if you don't do the things that made your childhood bad, then you're probably doing it alright." 

With that Vesimir stood and offered the bard his hand. Jaskier grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled up. 

He took a deep breath. Vesimir watched him as he out up the swords

"I'm going to talk to him. Tell him about training with Ciri and you, and about my uncertainty and," he glanced at his fingers, "some other things." He finished quietly. 

"Good. I think you'll find that it makes an improvement."

Jaskier shook his head and pursed his lips, 

"That depends entirely on him." 

Vesimir simply nodded and walked from the room with him. They separated and Jaskier made his was towards their room. On his way his mind wandered as it always had, and likely always would. It would completely be up to Geralt whether Jaskiers confessions made an improvement. 

The last time he had spoken to someone of his "deficiancies", as they'd been called, they'd stopped making eye contact with him, stopped talking to him, avoided him. He knew in all likelihood they'd been uncomfortable and didn't know how to respond, but it had hurt so bad. Hed been uncomfortable with sharing it, hadn't he and the rejection had been almost unbearable. It hadn't helped that while they couldn't look him in the eye they'd stared at him and studied him when he wasn't looking. Hed left a month later and never looked back. 

He'd been alone in his travels and the far to consistent night time company for a long time afterwards. But it had let him feel good for a moment. And he clung to those moments like a drowning man clung to a life preserver. 

He stopped at their door and shifted his weight back and forth. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to turn around and go back the way he came. Hell, he wanted to leave the keep and not come back, before he wanted to do this. He almost did. He lost track of time staring at the door. Geralt must have been else where if he hadn't opened the door and insisted that he come in already. 

"Coward." The voice in his head sing songed.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The room was empty and he let out the breath he was holding. Slowly he made his way to the bed and sat on the edge. 

He worked through what he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it. As he did so he distractedly picked at the remained of his nails, scratched at the bare skin of his wrists, chewed at his lips. Anything to relieve the anxiety building in him. He forced himself to breath. Practicing like he had when he was younger. His knee bounced rapidly and all at once his motions ceased when the door opened wide.


	21. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tells his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot longer and sad. But so good, in my opinion. Thank you all for sticking with me. The next chapter is written as well. I think I'll have 1 or 2 after the next one. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy. 
> 
> Let me know what you think?

"Jaskier, you're back early." 

He watched the smaller man nod his head and shrink in on himself. He hesitated and went about his normal evening routine. He set his swords beside the bed and then sat on its edge. Quietly he took off his boots. Partly it was for comfort, but mostly it was an active way of saying he intended to stay put. 

He glanced at the lutist, he seemed despondent. His gaze hadn't left the floor since Geralt had entered. He smelled of sweat, not just normal sweat but the kind that was stagnate and bitter with fear, worry. His heart beating to fast in his chest. He quietly sighed through his nose and decided to prod. 

"Vesimir isn’t scaring you too much is he. I don't know what you two are up too but you know you can tell him you don't want to. Right?"

A single nod. That's better than no reaction, which is what he gets a lot of the time. He can feel anger rising in him again. Not at the man in front of him, but for him. 

He made a frustrated noise and Jaskier flinched. His heart broke. Slowly he reached out and took Jaskier’s left hand in his. 

"Not at you, Jask…. So, what does Vesimir do with you?"

Silence enveloped them, he let his thumb stroke the back of Jaskier’s hand gently. It was the only movement in the room. He remained silent, he didn't know if Jaskier would answer him but he wanted to give him ample time. To let him know he had control over the conversation if he wanted it. 

This was hard for Geralt. But if it was what Jaskier needed he would try, inevitably fail, and then they again. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned slightly to look more fully at Jaskier. 

The Bard swallowed thickly, eyes still focused on the floor. Then he spoke, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper broken by the crackling of flames from the earth and candles. 

"We'll get to that." He cleared his throat and Geralt's stomach clenched. He wasn't sure what his lover meant but it had come across rather ominously.

He nodded, the other didn't notice but continued anyways, eyes still downcast, he squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

"I - I'm going to talk to you Geralt and I need you to hear me. Don't interrupt me, don't say anything. Just listen. And when I'm done talking, when I say those words because I'm going to pause a lot, this is hard. Really, really hard. Then you can speak. Okay? Can you do this for me?" 

Geralt squeezed his hand again and spoke as gently as he could. Voice gravelly. 

"Yes, Jaskier, I can."

The bard nodded. 

" I never told you about my childhood, why I became a bard, changed my name and never return home if I can help it?" 

The witcher shook his head.  
Did answering a question count as interrupting?

"No." He said gently to verify he was listening. 

"I'll start there then. I was born to a wealthy family, obviously, you know I'm a viscount." He laughed bitterly, "Anyways my childhood went as you might imagine, at first. Parents that gave me anything I might want for, but were never around. Then I started studying literature, poetry, music and my father wasn't terribly happy about that, my mother wasn't around much. She was having an affair with at least one of the servants, loved him more than my father, who of course, knew. My father demanded that I stop spending my free time studying those "worthless fairytales" as he liked to call them and focus on the politics and business of the family."

A pause, a swallow, and Jaskier extricated his hand to pick at his nails. Geralt watched, understanding dawning on his face. 

"I did focus on those things but my heart, damn my heart!, always longed for the arts. I was 9 the first time it happened. I was playing one of the instruments in the house and my father entered the room where I was showing off for my mother. He hated her at that point I think. Anyways, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out, reminding me the whole way to his office what I should be doing with my free time. I argued, and he struck me on the face.it was the first time he made me bleed. One of his rings cut me." 

He watched as Jaskier raised a now bloody finger to trace the faint scar under his left eye. Geralt didn't move, those his heart ached to make Jaskier stop tearing his flesh. He grit his teeth. If he had to add Jaskiers father to the list of people who he hated for harming him, then he was going to be lived. 

"He told me if I didn't stop the consequences would be dear. For now I was to copy ledgers with him. I did not heed the warning. 

Do you know how hard it is to write, or to play an instrument when your nails have been ripped off? Of course you don't how silly of me to think you might….. but I do Geralt," his voice caught, " the next time it happened he had a guard hold me and he ripped each of them out. One by one. Told me I was worthless as a son and he'd teach me to be a man, yet.

My mother begged him to stop, and he went off on her too. Said I was lucky he even considered me a son, since he did not know if I was actually his or a bastard. I didn't stop playing though. I'd leave the house for hours. which meant lots of beatings, but it was worth it, because I could play. He must have pulled them out," 

He watched as Jaskier focused on his hands, the same hands he'd been staring at the whole time,

"dozen of times between the ages of nine and fifteen. I left then, mother sent me money and put me through school at Oxenfurt.

I changed my name and never went back. It didn't, doesn't matter to me what my name or station should have been. I wanted to be a poet, a writer, a musician. So I made it happen. 

But I always felt….. isolated, rejected by the people who were supposed to love me and encourage me to be what I am.

I always grew anxious around my father, like I would never be good enough, and I wasn't, not for him. He always said such terrible things about me and my art. It didn't matter that I taught, that I became well known. I was just an insolent child being disobedient and in need of punishment." 

Geralt looked at his face. His eyes were wet with unshed tears. Geralt wanted to reach out and hug him. Wipe those tears away. Shield him from the darkness pressing in on them. He looked so fragile, so broken, bathed in flickering shadow and light. He opened his mouth to say something but remembered his promise. An oppressive silence enveloped them.

"And then I met you." 

Geralt felt like he'd been struck in the stomach by a dragon. Like ice water had been poured in buckets over him. Every terrible thing he'd ever said about Jaskiers music, about the man himself rushing to the forefront of his mind. He inhaled sharply. and when Jaskier looked to him he looked away in shame. How horrid he had been. 

"Honestly the only reason i perservered through all that bullshit at the beginning, was because I was selfish and hoping to make a name for myself by being in your company. Which worked, mostly. It sucked, a lot at first. Reminded me of being at home." 

Geralt cringed, he recalled the first time he'd noticed Jaskiers hands like they were now. He'd basically told him that no one cared, that his music was pointless and he should go find a real job to do. He ducked his head. He could feel eyes on him. He was too ashamed to meet them. 

"But then I saw the way you interacted with other people. The kind of man you actually were and I got curious. Why didn't you like me? Did you really hate my music? My poetry? Did you hate me the way you said you did? So I started watching you when I played, wrote and composed.

It wasn't the music, it was me trying to be your friend that you hated. You didn't want to trust me, or like me, or have me around. You didn't want to care. And in its own twisted way that was okay because it meant you did do those things. And we got on, had our moments. 

Then of course you were with Yennefer and that secretly broke my heart because I had hoped. But it was fine. I still had my friend, my only friend, around…..then you two ended your relationship and I hoped for real again. Until the mountain….."

The silence was deafening and he thought he might drown in it. He noted Jaskier had shifted from picking at his nails to scratching at his wrist, the skin turned angry and red. He desperately wanted to speak, to say he was sorry, to beg on his knees for redemption and forgiveness. Instead he set his face in a scowl and watched as Jaskiers nails began to leave raised welts on his own skin. 

Against his better judgment he reached over and took the offending appendage in his own hands and clasped it tight. For the first time that night their eyes met and Geralt was not the one to look away. Tears welled in the corners of the bard's eyes, and Geralt resisted the need to wipe them away. It was to gentle an action for him, and yet he wanted to do it anyways. 

Jaskier cleared his throat again and sucked in a shaking breath. 

"Those first two nights hurt so much. I honestly thought I was going to die. At least that I wanted to." 

Geralt hissed at the words despite himself and Jaskier smiled weakly as he continued. 

"It ended up pretty good though, if I do say so myself, and I do."

He winked, a spark of his old self there. 

"Of course then I started to wonder, to doubt if I was good enough for you. I mean you had Yennefer and now you just had… me." 

Geralt opened his mouth to retort and was shushed by a finger raised to his lips. 

"You promised. Let me talk." 

He bit down so hard he drew blood. His tongue stinging from the force of it. He nodded.

"I must have reminded myself a hundred times a day that you were choosing me. Even after this "

he fiddled with the ring on his hand, 

"but I always wondered why you chose me when you could have made it right with her. And when we got attacked I felt so useless and it just added to my doubts. I mean you've saved me countless times from monsters and enemies alike. I couldn't even hold a sword properly and you let me continue with you and I don’t understand it. You've put up with me when I've been moody and distracted by my thoughts. And sometimes I have very dangerous thoughts Geralt." 

He paused here. His heart beat too fast in his chest. Gerlat remained where he was as Jaskier stood up and placed, a slight limp to his gait. 

"Like what?" He couldn't stop himself, mouth opening, breath forming words before he could think. He pressed his lips together quickly. 

Jaskier looked at him. 

"Sorry," he whispered, "listening not talking."

The bard sighed and rubbed at his face. He placed the room, scratched at his wrist again. Feverishly, tugged at his hair, bit at his lip. He was falling apart, only a few feet from Geralt and he couldn't do a damn thing. 

"Hurting myself." 

It was only audible because of his enhanced hearing and Geralt broke. This wonderful energetic, brilliant, creative, beautiful man in front of him thought about harming himself? Geralt couldn't wrap his head around it. Broken men like himself, certainly, but you didn't talk about it. Didn't share. You pressed on. But Jaskier was nothing like him. Why did he hurt this way. This should have been Geralt's pain, not his Dandelions. Not his. Jaskiers back was turned to him, shoulders shaking with sobs that died in his throat. Geralt stood. The bed creaking with the loss of weight. Slowly he approached his lover and lightly put his arms around him. 

He didn't speak, there weren't words for this. Jaskier turned burying his face into the witcher's chest at his touch. Geralt held him tight but didn't speak. He'd promised. Not that he knew what to say if he could manage to speak.

Some time passed before Jaskier pulled back and looked timidly up at him with red eyes puffy from crying. Geralt met them with an intensity. He wasn't angry, hurt a little, but mostly he wanted the man in his arms to understand he was loved. 

"Most people can't look at me, or touch me when I tell them that. Not that I tell just anyone." The bard sniffled, Geralt frowned and held him tighter. Who had ignored him. Who had broken his trust in telling people? He ground his teeth.

"Then we got Ciri," he continued as though he hadn't just revealed some terribly dark secret and Geralt felt dizzy trying to follow. 

"And I'm terrified I'll hurt her like my father did me. I don't mean physically, I would never, but all of the other things. I never want her to feel like I did. Then we came here and things were okay. We were happy and alive. And then…." 

Jaskier shook his head and looked away from Geralt. The bard stepped out of his touch, and Geralt wanted to gather him back against him but didn't dare. If Jaskier had extricated himself then he needed the space. 

The bard swallowed hard and wiped at his face and Geralt had the sudden urge to kiss those tears away. He fought it down, locked it away with the anger that still threatens to consume him. 

"… I realized how weak I was. And he knew Geralt. He knew I was jealous of Yennefer spending time with you and Ciri and that I was scared you'd choose to go back to her. He talked about my insecurities like they were tattoos on my skin. I've never felt so violated. Well… that was the point wasn't it. To cause harm, to violate everything. To cause pain." 

Jaskier hugged himself and sank back onto the edge of the bed. Silence filled the air again, Geralt could hear footsteps some distance off, and running water down below. But he was focused on the shudders and starts and stops of the man across from him. Purposefully he knelt in front of him resting a hand on his knee and waited mouth open ready to speak.

"And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stop him, and that I'm not strong enough to help Ciri, that I rely on her so much instead. And I'm sorry I lied to you." 

Geralt cocked his head and raised his eyebrows surprised. Jaskier barreled on looking up to meet his eyes. 

"Ciri and I weren't practicing music. I mean we did but she was also trying to show me how to use a sword properly because I was too embarrassed to ask you again. And I was too humiliated and didn't want the others to think me any weaker than Ialready am by asking them. And then Vesimir found out and he didn't even get angry he just started helping me learn instead. And. And. And please don't hate me."

He choked out on sobs that wracked his entire being. The tears he'd been holding back again burst forth and he curled in on himself. 

Geralt was rooted to the floor. He felt so many things in this moment. Anger, sadness, grief, hope, sorrow, love, heartbreak. He wanted to run. He didn't want to deal with it. He didn't even know where to start. He opened his mouth again and all of his earlier retorts died in his throat. He looked up at the weeping poet and frowned. He didn't know how to make it better. But he trusted his gut. 

He took a deep breath and leaned up. He cupped Jaskiers face in his hands and kissed him for the first time in months. It wasn't a sexy kiss, it wasn't beautiful, it was messy. It was chaste and filled with tears and a little snot. Still Geralt didn't pull away, not until Jaskiers shoulders went from rigid to slumped, until he sighed contentedly into the kiss. Geralt held his eyes with his own and leaned up and kissed his forehead and pulled him into a hug. 

They slid to the floor, Jaskier wrapped in Geralts arms and both of them leaning against the bed. Jaskier leaned his head against broad shoulders and listened to the steadiness of Geralt's being. 

"Are you finished?" 

The question came out rather quiet. He didn't want to ruin the calm that had settled.

"Mmmhmm." Came a half awake response. 

"You sound exhausted."

"Am."

"Then let's sleep and I'll tell you my piece in the morning."

He felt a faint nod against his shoulder. He stood, bringing Jaskier with him and helped him into the bed. He laid next to him and pulled him close. He might have been holding on to tight, but Jaskier only put his head on Geralt's chest and fell asleep. 

The witcher lay there wide awake for some time. Where did he start? Their conversation, one sided as it was, answered so many questions and brought up many painful memories. He sighed and looked at his partner. It would come in the morning. For now, he enjoyed the stillness of night and resisted the urge to run.


	22. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gives his response, and the two share a quiet morning. 
> 
> Or, it's fluff guys. Just fluff. No angst, well a little, but not enough to count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters after this one. Both are written and being edited. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> I thrive on knowing your thoughts!

Geralt woke to a long missed, achingly familiar feeling. He smiled and kissed Jaskier back without opening his eyes. 

"Good morning Geralt." It is whispered, just in front of him. Warm breath ghosting along his cheek. 

"Oh, I've missed this." He thinks and smiles. 

"Good morning to you too." It's groggy with sleep, but sincere. He opens his eyes to meet cornflower blue looking softly, sadly at him. “Sombre”, he thinks, is the word Jaskier would use. 

Jaskiers chipper voice and happy smile does little to hide the concern in his eyes. Geralt reaches out and pulls the smaller man towards him in a tight embrace. Jaskier makes no move to disentangle himself. Instead he presses closer feeling lighter than he has in quite some time. Geralt doesn't fight as Jaskier turns and wiggles so he can look up at him. He smiles fondly. He wants. He wants them to stay tangled up together like this. To wake up like they had this morning. To make love. To simply be, he thinks. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but it is one that has been absent for a while now. Lost to the recess of his being while anger, frustration, sorrow, hurt, and a multitude of other feeling bubbled at the surface.

The urge hits him like a blow he wasn't expecting. How he wants the man in his arms. He refrains. This is delicate. He rests his chin on the crown of Jaskiers head and says,   
"Thank you." It's soft despite the gruffness of Geralts morning voice.  
Jaskier let's out a rush of hot air against his shoulder. They stay like that, the silence broken only by their tandem breathing.

Geralt doesn't know what else to say. Thank you isn't enough even though he means, "thank you for trusting me. For telling me, I know it was hard. I'm proud of you for confiding in me. I'm proud of you for getting stronger. You won't hurt Ciri, I'm more likely to do that. I wish I could take those memories away from you. I wish I could keep you safe." But those words die in his lungs before they're even formed with his breath. 

"F'r wh't?" Jaskier garbles against his shoulder. He knew it was coming. Knew he should say more than that, but he didn’t really know how. 

Geralt runs his fingers through sleep tangled hair, taking time in formulating the response. 

"For… for all of it. Trusting me. Trusting in me. That wasn't easy for you, I could tell. It hurt? It hurt to watch you. To see you so…. open." He said, cheek still pressed into soft locks. Jaksier nods against his chest. He was on the right track.

"I'm still not good at this part, Jaskier. But, I… I'm proud of you for telling me. And...and I hope that…. In the future if you feel…." 

He sighed and pulled back. He choked on his own breath. Jaskier was gorgeous like this. The morning sun catching in his hair, highlighting the honey colored strands, catching on his lashes and caressing his face. Silently he lifts one of Jaskiers hands and studies the bloodied tips, the raised welts with streaks of dried blood on his wrist. He brings the smaller hand to his lips and kisses each finger and down his wrist. Jaskier flushed, it was such an incredibly tender gesture he didn't know how to respond. He stammered, mouth dry as he watched. 

Geralt twined their fingers and looked down at Jaskier locking eyes. 

"If you feel like harming yourself, tell me. Please. If we need a code so that I know and no one else does then… so be it. But I need to be able to know when you're hurting like that. Also, I very much would like to have words with your father," he kissed the back of Jaskiers hand again. 

"And," he continued, bolder, " I think you're doing a very good job with Ciri, even with all that's happened you've been…. Constant with her. And she loves you. Try not to worry about that. And uhm,” His voice grew smaller here, almost shy, “thank you for the kiss." 

He looked away, it had been so long since they had shared something as simple as a kiss. He watched Jaskiers lips twitch into a smile. 

"You're not angry with me?" His voice was so little, relieved, but uncertain. He tore at Geralt.

" No Jaskier, I'm not. You did something you felt you needed to do to feel better. And frankly, it's never ended well…. With teaching, when I tried to teach you."   
Jaksier laughed. It was a long laugh, hard, and full, deep and rolling. Geralt missed that laugh. 

"I'm an idiot." 

"No, you're healing." 

He grew uncomfortable under Jaskiers gaze. There was something soft, loving in it that had been missing for so long mixed with surprise and relief. Jaskier smiled at him again and he returned it before promptly losing his balance. 

Jaskier had all but jumped forward and kissed him. Geralt brought his hands up to steady the smaller man straddling him. He rested them on narrow hips and smiled up at brilliant blue eyes. 

Okay then. He'd take what was given without hesitation. When Jaskier leaned down and kissed him it was slow, a little uncertain, and boiling over with tenderness and longing. It was hesitant at first but quickly grew into the heated familiar fervor they normally shared. Geralt ran a hand up Jaskiers back and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It seemed to do the trick. 

Jaskier kissed him harder and he reciprocated. He felt the tug of a hand gripping his hair, the fumbling as the other searched for purchase on his chest. He soaked it all up: the morning light turning the room grey; the breathy sounds of the man above him as he sought his lips; the coolness of the morning air around him. 

The kiss turned heated and he was pulled back to focus on it by Jaskier biting at his bottom lip and his tongue licking eagerly at the same spot. Willingly he opened his mouth. He’d let Jaskier lead. He’d let him do anything he wanted if it meant they could stay like this. 

They were in a bubble, it was safe here and he missed it. He let out a slight moan when Jaskier licked at a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of his mouth. The other grinned against his lips and pulled back. Breathing deeply. He whined despite himself. 

"Jask?" 

"Don't worry, I'm only breathing." He leaned back down and peppered kisses along his jaw, down to his ear.

"I miss this." The bard whispered before kissing at his throat. They were languid, there was no rush. No fear in the movements. No trepidation.

Jaskier met his lips again.

They stayed like that sharing kisses and small, pleasant sounds, neither inclined to take it any further. 

Eventually Jaskier pulled away and rested his head on Geralts chest. 

"Breakfast?" It was muffled against his chest. 

He studied the bard, he didn't seem upset. He seemed…content? 

"Are you hungry or?" He was taking a risk asking a question like that. He might ruin the moment.

Jaskier nodded. 

"Just hungry. Promise. Plus I think we've been at it a while." The musician grinned mischievously and winked down at him.

He waited for the musician to extricate himself before sitting up. He watched as he fluttered around the room for the first time in months to put himself together properly. He smiled and then frowned. 

"Is this just a good morning, or the start of some good days?" The thought came completely unbidden and though it wasn’t wanted he couldn’t deny the truth that accompanied it, nor the dread in the pit of his stomach. 

He didn't know. What he did know was he was going to be left behind if he didn’t get up. It was mesmerizing though, watching Jaskier comb out his hair, take pride in what he chose to wear.

"Gods above, when was the last time I treated you properly? You need some new strings and oh your getting all dried out next to the fire." The musician gasped as he picked up his lute. He watched as slim, delicate fingers roamed across the wood, the way they traced intricate details, minute scratches. 

Geralt laughed, hard. 

"You know what, we can probably get new strings in about a week." Jaskier beamed, he'd said the right thing.

“REALLY!? How?” Oh, that was excitement, pure and unadulterated, “ and I need some oil to polish her with. Don’t let me forget that.” 

“Of course not. The snow is beginning to melt, we can probably make it to the nearest market. It’s a trading post so they may have some of the things you need, or at the very least substitutes.” He said, pulling a fresh shirt over his head. 

“Wait… we can leave?” Jaskier asked, uncertainty pinching his voice, forcing it to go quiet.

“A few weeks. I think the open road would do us all some good.” Geralt nodded in his direction, running the brush through his own hair, and tying it back. 

He watched as Jaskier slipped his lute over his back and grabbed his notebook and a couple pencils. The familiarity of the action loosened something that had been pulled tight in him. He felt himself relax slightly. 

This was the Jaskier he knew.

He pulled on his boots and followed him out the door. 

He watched as several people including Ciri and Yennefer made faces to one another. Jaskier hadn't dressed up in months. Instead he’d been wearing dull clothes sometimes the same ones much longer than would have been suggestible. Today he wore fresh clothes, in bright colors, his doublet undone as per normal. He sat where he always did and jumped into conversation happily, when he wasn't stuffing his face that is.

Jaskier finished two full plates. He watched as lean muscle leaned back against his chair and took a large swallow of his drink. He was surprisingly happy. It would be good for Jaskier to put some weight back on. He would be a sack of bones by the end of summer if he didn’t. He wouldn’t push though, just seeing that there was an appetite today was enough. 

“So, what's the plan for today?” Jaskier asked excitedly, arms stretched above his head, followed by a yawn. 

“Uh,” Eskel started, “The same as usual?” 

Jaskeir rolled his eyes and Geralt buried his smile in his mug.   
“Obviously Eskel, but what are we going to do different today. What’s going to make today special?” 

“Oh God’s,” Lambert shook his head. Ciri jumped up. 

“We should all play a game!” 

“Which one?” Jaskier asked, leaning over the table. 

They were going to get absolutely nothing done today, and he knew that. Still, today promised to be one of the best days at the keep. Maybe, he hoped, it would be the start of a lot of good days.


	23. Three Tasks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its their second to last day in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier has three things he wants to do before they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Enjoy. 
> 
> I know, nothing for months, and then bam like 6 chapters in three days. 
> 
> Anyways, It looks like this ended up being three chapters longer than predicted. 
> 
> I don't have any ideas what to write next, but I am definitely in a creative frenzy atm. If you have a prompt you'd like to ask of me, or want to challenge me to write something, inbox me on tumblr at the same username. :) 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think. This chapter was kind of difficult to write. Not as much as the last one, but I'm content.

Just as each passing day grew longer, he grew more and more like himself. The weight that had been hanging around his neck and weighing him down was gone. He could move more freely than he had been able to in a long time. He still battled with it, and as such would take adequate time to himself. It was simple really, he usually only had to inform Geralt that he was going to take a nap. That was all he had to say and he would be left alone for at least an hour, usually three or four. Geralt would ask him at the end of the day how he was doing, and would listen, which was a remarkable change from how he had been the entirety of their relationship. It was still a work in progress, but weren’t they all. Life was fluid, and needs and wants, changed daily. 

It was odd, speaking so freely with someone that had proven he could be trusted, about the things that had eaten him alive for so long. He still didn’t speak openly, that was a work in progress too, but he could say he was having a bad day. That he was thinking of the things he knew he shouldn’t. He was nearing forty and felt much like he had in the years leading up to finishing his schooling. Still, this new openness between them filled him with relief. It filled him with a different kind of fear too, but he wouldn’t focus on that. He couldn't say that everything was better, he still had very bad days, but they were steadily growing fewer. And he wasn’t so naive as to think that things would be magically better. One simply did not heal from major trauma in a few months time. He knew there would be events that set him off, that he could be fine for months and then it would hit him all over again. Still, he also knew he had survived, was still surviving, and that he had someone who may not always understand, or even be helpful, but who would listen quietly and offer any support he could. Scratch that, he had at least two, but if he looked around the table at dinner tonight and believed his logic that number grew. 

He inhaled sharply and shifted in the chair. His finger tapped idly at the open notebook in front of him. It had taken a while to open it, to try and finish the composition he had been working on. He swallowed and glanced at the words. Then he did something he had never done before. He ripped the page from his book, even with the binding so as not to leave a rough edge, crushed the pages into a ball and tossed them into the hearth. Then he smiled, a soft, sad little smile. 

It had been a very difficult decision. He had been pondering it since he’d opened his notebook that morning. The two witnesses to his actions said nothing, they simply smiled softly in return. Turning his eyes back to the page he started something new. The past would linger. Yet, in this moment he chose to look forward to the future. 

A gust of chilled air blew across the floor of the main hall. It brought with it, the whisper that spring was coming quickly. He smiled, knowing who had returned. He had opted not to go on this trip, his knee bothering him more than he would like to admit. Instead he had trusted Geralt and Ciri to retrieve the items he needed. He closed the empty notebook in his lap and purposefully looked up. He could see the door from his position in the massive chair, leg up to help it keep from getting stiff. Geralt ushered Ciri infront of him, and Eskel followed behind. They were on the final supply run before everyone took to the Path again. They would set out well prepared.

They intended to set out in the morning. This time, it would not be a bittersweet affair. Everyone was looking forward to leaving the keep. It had been such a long winter, everyone had felt the pain and the darkness that had surrounded them. The world they were walking into wasn’t much better, but it wasn’t this place. 

Jaskier shook his head slightly as he watched them set the new supplies on the table. The other Witchers joined them and began sorting the supplies efficiently. Triss had made her departure that morning, and while Jaskier had been sad to see her go, she had promised to stay in touch as much as possible. Yennefer still sat across from him. He caught her eye. He inhaled, the others were busy and there were still a few things that he wanted to do, needed to do, before they set out tomorrow. Sighing, he steeled himself. He stood, stretching his knee.

“Yennefer, would you walk with me a moment?” His voice was clear, small in the openness of the room, but certain and strong.

He knew Geralt had looked at them, from the way Yennefer's gaze flashed past him and back. She stood in acquiescence. He left his lute and notebook beside the chair and directed her outside. Snow still covered the ground, but the main walk was mostly clear, and where the grass peeked through, life was beginning to thrive. It was surprisingly warm, and he was grateful for that. They walked in a strangely, for them, companionable silence until finally he turned. He knew what he wanted to say and the words stuck in his throat. 

Yennefer regarded him with interest, violet eyes fluttering over his person. He shivered under the scrutiny and she flushed, leveling her gaze at his nose. Not his eyes, whatever he had to say, was his to say, not to be taken. He knew she was growing impatient the longer they stood there, so he cleared his throat. Swallowed, bit his lip. Repeated the forsaken ritual twice more. 

“I,” He breathed out. 

“I am… Thank you.” She studied him and he wanted to shy away. But she didn’t push so he continued slowly. 

“I owe you a great debt. You saved my life. And I am sorry. I have treated you so terribly this entire time. I’ve thought things that I had no right to think about you. And mostly… I’m sorry for being jealous of you. It wasn’t fair to you and colored my interactions with you much more than it should have. Thank you, also, for teaching Ciri and giving her someone she can look up to. It… It means a lot to me, and I think to Geralt too. And I think she would like it if you were around as often as you could be. If that's not too strange a request to ask of you. I mean this winter couldn't have been nice for you, with the whole… ‘ I'm sleeping with the man you used to sleep with’ bit…..Not that that actually happened this winter….. And then well…. So Thank you, and I’m sorry.” 

The mage regarded him with intense eyes, but as she searched his face her eyes softened. He didn’t know what she was looking for but whatever it was she had found it. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. You are welcome.” They stood there, a simple, amicable silence between them. Slowly she stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. It was loose, he could break away from it, but he didn’t. He leaned forward and returned it. 

“You deserve him, you know. I think you’re good for eachother. I'm jealous too, so between us, it's amazing we've been civil. I would have helped you anyways though.” Her voice was small in his ear, but he understood. It was her apology. When they broke apart she turned back to the keep. He didn't follow, instead he looked up at the sky. It was so blue and clear. He heard her stop some feet away, 

“Are you coming?” 

“In a while. I have something else I need to think about.” He said slowly, a sad smile playing at his eyes, when he glanced at her. She returned it and left him to his thoughts. 

*********

The wind died down to less than a gentle breeze as he studied the clear sky. There were no clouds in sight, not a single one. He needed to do two things still. Both tasks felt incredibly heavy, one sounded far more fun than the other, nerve wracking but fun. He scratched at his wrist and turned his gaze back to the snow. He found the tree he was looking for. He didn’t know why it had caught his eye, but it was forever ingrained in his mind. The hike didn’t take too long, though he slowed his steps considerably as he found the clearing. He swallowed down the bitter sharp saliva growing in his mouth, and promptly vomited. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He needed to do this. Not for the others, but for him. He needed to put this behind him. Determinedly he walked to the top of the small hill and stopped. There was absolutely nothing special about this clearing. It was one of many he could have chosen that day. Thinking back he knew there should have been a reason he had, but he couldn’t remember, perhaps it had to do with, oh yes it had, the sunlight hitting the trees. He cast his gaze upward. Hesitantly he started down into the clearing and when he reached the center he stopped and lazily spun a circle taking it all in. 

The memories hit him hard. They were nearly tangible, the taste of blood in his mouth, the jack rabbit beating of his heart, the fear, the instinct to run, and the unwanted feel of another's touch. He shivered but not from the cold. He liked his lips. There was no one here, not even a ghost. He probably should have told someone he was leaving the grounds but he needed to do this on his own. 

“You didn’t win.” He starts, his breathing is sharp. His voice catching in his throat. 

“You hear me! You didn’t win. I am alive, and I am happy.” His voice comes out string, rising in pitch and volume. If someone came looking for him and heard he didn’t care. He needed to say these things.

“Ciri is safe. And Geralt has grown so much. You didn’t win, and you won’t. I WON'T LET YOU! YOU DON'T GET TO TAKE MY LIFE AWAY FROM ME! IT'S MINE!” He was sobbing and screaming into the emptiness now. And it didn’t matter, he couldn't bring himself to care what anyone would think, to be ashamed of how he sounded. This was far from the worst he had been. He continued, sucking in deep breaths as he went. 

“THIS LIFE IS MINE! THE PEOPLE IN IT ARE MINE! YOU DO NOT GET TO KEEP TRYING TO TAKE THEM AWAY FROM ME. NOT YOU OR MY FATHER, OR ANYONE ELSE!” He howled. His breathing came in shallow stuttering bursts. 

He forced himself to breathe deeply. To find a normal rhythm. He pushed the heel of his hand against his eyes hard enough he saw spots as he wiped his tears away. When he had calmed some, he opened his mouth and poured forth acid. 

“I hope that you rot. That you burn endlessly. And I hope no one remembers you, not your name, or your face, nothing, not even your disgrace. You deserve to be lost to the sands of time. Forgotten. Swept up and tossed away like the dust you are.” 

With that he started the march back to the keep. He had one more thing he needed to do. One more thing he wanted to do. And Gods Damn it he was going to do it. This place would have at least one good memory for him. 

He would look back and find many, but that wasn’t something he would know for years to come.


	24. One Last Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier takes the plunge and completes that final task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, three chapters in one day. I just couldn't wait to upload them. I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Seriously, a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me to the end. This year has been so strange for all of us. I really appreciate all your support. I hope this has been as cathartic to read as it was for me to write. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll either get some great ideas, from you all, or I'll come up with something.

When he finally made his way back through the front door, a couple sets of eyes turned towards him. He ignored them and wiped one last time at his face. Ciri all but toppled him over as he joined them at the table. Coen and Lambert had set out the day before. Their goodbyes had been swift and succinct. No point in dallying. It wasn’t long before their packs were ready and set to the side and the table cleared for supper. It was an oddly simple meal and the general atmosphere was morose with a touch of masked excitement. The juxtaposition almost made him laugh. 

There was quiet chatter between the three witchers as they discussed which directions they would go; and of course, how Geralt intended to take care of his family. It had surprised Jaskier into nearly choking when the word had left Vesimir’s lips. He’d recovered quickly enough, and no one questioned him, but Geralt had given him a fond look. He’d sighed and finished his wine. Wine, which he was so happy about. Finally a decent drink. It wasn’t cheap stuff either, he could tell. Ciri stood across the table from him. He cocked his head at her and smiled. 

“Good luck.” He winked. She was going to be having her last lesson with Yennefer for a while. The two women left the table. He yawned. Finished his wine and stood himself. 

“I’m going to bed early.” He didn’t look long enough to see disappointment flash across Geralt's face. He heard calls of “goodnight” and off handedly waved back at them.His lute and notebook held close. 

He deposited the instrument in his room and gathered a fresh set of clothes, well a shirt. And made his way to the springs below. In the flickering light of the halls, he allowed himself to stop and panic. He was nearly to the washroom. He stilled himself, left hand steadying him against the wall. He shook his head and gulped down greedy lungfuls of air. “You're okay.” He told himself over and over again until he could move again. Then, “You don’t have to go through with this if you don't want to.” And “ You can try, and if it doesn’t work out, then that's okay.” Or, “ He won’t be angry with you. Regardless of what happens, not for this.” He sunk down into a tub of hot water, the minerals alone were wonderful smelling, and that eased his mind and calmed his nerves. He added his own scents to it, because of course he did, he was Jaskier. He took his time enjoying the feeling of being clean, and relaxed. Finally he dressed and made his way back to their room.

He sat on the bed, amused at how empty it still felt. He wasn’t in their room next to Ciri, not tonight. He was in the room they had shared that first night. Absently he brought the fingers of his right hand to his mouth. He stopped. Ran it through his hair instead, and forcibly lowered it back to his lap. He tapped his fingers against his naked knee. He had opted to wear one of Geralt's overly large shirts, and nothing else. He swallowed. How long did he have to change his mind? He could still put his own clothes on and go to bed. But no. He had purposefully put Geralt in a mood when he left supper so abruptly. He had a plan and Melitele help him, he was going through with it. He wanted one good memory. One he could cherish. He breathed out steadily through his mouth and inhaled through his nose. He was nervous, more so than the first time. That had been an experience. 

He smiled at the memory. He wanted to do this, he just might have to set some ground rules, as unsexy as that may be. There was a knock on the door. Followed by the sound of a voice muddled through the wood of the door. 

“Jaskier? Can I come in? Are you okay?” He didn’t answer right away, his heart rate picking up. He fidgeted with the ring on his finger. 

“Are you alone?” He wasn’t sure the other man heard him, but when he finally answered he could picture the confusion on his features. 

“Yes?” 

“Okay.” He pointedly did not look at the door, or the man in the doorway when it swung open. He heard the intake of breath. Shock? Probably, two steps, and stop. He could almost see the other in his head, eyes blown at the sight of him wearing his clothes. Shock would be evident in his features too, and there was the shift in breathing, uncertainty. He bit his lip and flicked his eyes over at the witcher standing dumbly in the middle of the room, very obviously unsure what he should be doing. Last summer, they'd both be well on the way to oblivion by now. 

“I was…” he cleared his throat, and Jaskier almost looked at him. “Going to ask why you weren’t….” he trailed off, eyes likely roaming over the others rumpled hair and definitely staring at the exposed clavicle and chest, his bare legs. 

Finally he began to tear his gaze away from the wall he’d been staring at. He caught Geralt trying to arrange his features into less desire asdn more anything else. The act was unfortunately easy considering the concern that was mixed in equal parts on his face too. He took a deep breath, maybe it would be Geralt who didn’t want to do this. 

He didn’t mean for the words to leave him in a jumbled mess of rushed air, but eye contact with gold eyes, looking at him like that, always made his heart race and his breathing speed up. 

“Iwanttohavesexwithyouifyouwantto.” 

Geralt blinked at him, stupefied. Then turned and nudged the door closed behind him.

“Say it slower.” He said walking slowly towards Jaskier, doing his best to look less like a hunter and more like a human. Jaskeir watched his throat contract with a swallow. Funny the little things you notice when adrenaline kicks in. Geralt froze in place and stepped back. 

“Jaskier, can I sit with you.” 

A silent nod, but he never broke eye contact. Did he look scared, he wondered. He watched as the larger man continued his very slow walk to the bed and sat hesitantly beside him. 

“I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder.” He nodded again, this was something they had learned through trial and error. Mostly error. Jaskier let out a breath, sucked in another, turned his head to meet Geralt's eyes again and said more slowly, 

“I want. To have sex. With you. If you want to.” 

There was an odd staccato to his voice. But it was intentional, it's how he slowed the words down in his head so they weren't a mess of incoherent sounds.   
He watched in trepidation as Geralt seemed to formulate what he wanted to say. Watched the way his hands now both at his sides gripped his leg, or the bed to keep from moving on their own.

“I want to. Definitely want to,” A flash of liquid honey glancing over his form, “But, I also want to know why now?” 

He was prepared, he assumed that there would be questions. It was uncanny, because for once he didn’t want Geralt to try and talk before he acted. Still he smiled, soft eyes focused on the other, he was learning and trying and it was cute. 

“I want this memory to be the memory I have of my first winter in Kaer Morhen.” He spoke gently, trying to diffuse the apprehension growing in the room. That seemed to surprise Geralt. 

“You want this for you. Not because you think it's what I want.” Geralt asked, and the question caught him off guard. How his witcher had grown. When they had first met he wasn’t sure that the man would ever change. He nodded. Then since it was something so serious, 

“Yes. I want to try this, because I want to. Not for any other reason Geralt. I,” he rubbed one foot along the other, trying not to fidget. “ I miss you, us, the way we were, could be, still are? I hope.” Blue met gold again. Geralt seemed to be considering. 

“You’re completely certain? You want to do this tonight?” And oh, Geralt was fidgeting. How odd. He smirked, rolled his eyes and stared the other man down, shamelessly. 

“No, I’m sitting on a bed in a room far away from the others, dressed in one of your shirts, in Only one of your shirts, with a bottle of oil on the nightstand because I don’t want to have sex with you.” 

Geralt stared at him a long moment, then blinked, then grinned. He leaned forward, and stopped inches from Jaskier whose heart was racing. He pulled back. Now it was sinking. Had Geralt changed his mind? Was he too disgusted to touch him like this? He shouldn’t have tried this. His mind started spinning the questions to fast, his face fell and he knew it had. 

“ I need you to say yes.” The voice was too small for Geralt. 

“What?!” His pitched too high. Shocked.

“And I need you to tell me if there's something you don’t want me doing with you.” Geralt wasn’t looking at him now. “What?” He thought again, confused. 

“Geralt?”  
“I don’t want to hurt you. Or scare you. I want…. You to feel safe…. And loved.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Oh,” Then he gripped Geralt's face in his hands and turned it so he could kiss him. It was like magic, that kiss. Like something had shifted for both of them. Kisses had been reclaimed. This was the beginning of something wonderful. A New start. When he broke the kiss, he pulled back and said,

“Honestly, I’m not completely certain. But.” He licked his lips, “I, If I need to stop, I’ll say so and I want you to listen to that. I know sometimes we get carried away. And, I want to see. I want to see what we're doing, so the light stays, and,” he looked away, cheeks red, “ I’m not going face down.” Geralt nodded, in understanding. 

“Anything else?” 

Now he fidgeted for real. This one thing, he wasn’t sure he could say. They hadn’t ever talked about what exactly had happened.

“I’m not sure… If I”ll be okay, uhm, tasting you.” He couldn’t look at him, too embarrassed and shamed by the admission. 

A calloused hand found his chin and nudged it up. 

“That's alright. I’m more than happy you want to try.” He smiled at that. They looked at each other for a long while and finally Jaskier laughed, breaking the quiet around them.

“So are you just going to sit there, or?” And then he was being kissed again, just like that. Familiar, strong hands on his back as he was pulled close.

He scrambled for purchase and finally moved to straddle thick thighs. That earned a chuckle. Maybe he was more eager than he thought. He wanted to do this quickly and get it over with just to know he could and at the same time, he wanted to go so very slow memorizing every movement every sound. So he worked towards a middle ground, and was slightly surprised when Geralt let him. He was setting the pace at this moment. And he was very happy about that. It hadn’t been a spoken condition, but it was one he was grateful for as he licked his way into the others mouth. He wasn’t surprised when Geralt won that fight and broke away to trial kisses down his neck. He grasped the other's hair in his fingers and moaned when he sucked a bruise into his collarbone. He’d have several of those. Of that he was certain. Geralt was a tad bit possessive, and tonight he was needy. 

Jaskier returned the favor, or he would have if there wasn't still clothing in the way. He whined and tugged at the offending cloth. Geralt rewarded him with a laugh, and the absence of arms around him to keep him steady. He pitched forward against a rapidly baring chest to keep from falling onto the floor grateful he wasn’t going to join the shirt. He wrapped his arms back round Geralt's neck and kissed whatever he could reach of the other man. His lips. Along his throat, his shoulders, his chest. He felt calloused fingers brush against the skin of his thighs, he shivered and the other stopped, he met his eyes and kissed his lips, a silent permission to continue. Slowly they stroked down to the back of his knees and back up, stopping just short of caressing him. He sighed, and instead worked at the laces at his lover's waist. He’d have to touch him eventually right. 

He wouldn't deny that he was happy that they were both obviously uncertain. It made him feel a little more secure. He felt Geralt stiffen at the touch though and deviously rolled his hips downward. That did it, 

“Jask-ier” 

“Hmmm,” nipping at his ear, he didn’t stop pulling at the laces. 

“YoU hmm” he whined. 

“Yes, I am” He whispered tenderly. “Now give me a hand. This is a terrible position for getting these damned things off.” He was certain he had growled that last part. Geralt laughed and lifted him as he stood, only to turn and deposit him on the bed. Jaskier looked up at him through fluttering lashes, the shirt riding up his thighs as he watched the muscular man shimmy out of his clothes. He swallowed, raking his eyes up and down the others body, leering. He licked his lips again, and reached out a hand. 

Geralt took it and climbed back onto the bed, catching his lips a little more aggressively then was likely intended. It was familiar, and he nearly melted from the feeling. He could feel the press of the body above him and he stilled, Geralt pulled back and met his eyes. 

“I’m good. I just need a second.” Geralt nodded and sat back on his knees. Space. Jaskeir leaned forward and kissed him again, surprised that no quip came about him still being quite covered. He thrust forward, teasingly against the others obviously hardening arousal. He dove back into the others mouth without warning and pulled him back down, legs spread to either side, one locked behind the others knee. The contact was almost heavenly, as he sought friction against the others' skin. 

It was different than it had been before, but not in a bad way. There was something much more soft about this. He felt Geralt run fingers up the front of his thigh, up across his hip, up and over his nipple. He let out a breathy moan. He felt the other continue the motion. All the while sucking another mark into the other shoulder. He let his head tilt back and whined, pressing his hips upwards to meet the others. Amber's eyes flicked down to him and then there was a tug on the shirt and he complied sitting up so it could be removed. 

Suddenly he felt exposed. Vulnerable beneath the other's gaze. He resisted the urge to cover himself. Barely, he squirmed a little and noted how Geralt studies him for a moment and then opens his mouth. 

“I want to do something and if it's not okay then tell me. I'll stop.”

He nodded and closed his eyes, He said he wanted to see but right now, he didn’t dare open his eyes. He shivered as feather light touches trailed along his exposed skin. A thumb traced along the edge of his shoulder, he knew there was a scar there from… , and then there was a kiss, so light he wasn’t sure it was there. He sucked in a breath and let it out. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t say stop, so he felt the other resume his menstruation, fingers trailing down his arms until they traced his wrists. There too he felt kisses, the fingers fluttered back up his arms and down his sides until they brushed over the faintest of crescent marks, he kissed those too, every single one of them. He moved down still, trailing kisses as he went, he stopped at his knee. And then kissed it too, the knee cap, above and below it, the sides, and then he lifted it and kissed the back. Jaskier could feel his face turning scarlet. This was… nice. Very different. He opened his eyes a crack and smiled. The other was treating him reverently. Slowly he pushed himself up. Worry flashed across Geralt's face. He only shook his head and rolled onto his stomach. 

Every instinct in him told him not too. But he was trusting his love. Tentative hands trailed up his legs, a kiss on his knee again. The witcher moved slowly, encouraging his poet with sweet nothings and whispered caresses against his skin. Jaskier shivered under the ministrations, inhales sharply as hands and lips make contact with his ass. He shakes just slightly but doesnt ask the other to stop. Instead he whispers, “kiss me until your lips are the only ones I know, the only ones I remember? Love me still,” Geralt stills for a moment, and then continues. He kisses up Jaskiers spine, along each vertebrae, spreads his fingers against his shoulders and kisses the scars there. He covers every mark from the other with his lips, kissing away the memories. 

Jaskier pushes back, creating a lovely friction, but Geralt seems to understand his needs. He wants to face the other way. Geralt moved with him, giving the musician his freedom. Jaskier lays before him, legs spread inviting. The witcher leans down and kisses him. This one is heated, not by tenderness, but lust he feels a hand trail up along his thigh, the one resting against Geralt's hip, weight supported by the arm by his head. He can feel the heat rising between them again, the reverence replaced by lust. He bucks up against the other, not daring to break the kiss, even as the need to breathe becomes increasingly more necessary. He trails his tongue along the others, and finally pulls back to breath even as an uncertain hand touches him. He shudders slightly and lets his eyes flutter closed as Geralt strokes him with calloused fingers. Geralt continues his actions as he kisses Jaskiers chest, down, then across his hip and sucks another bruise there. Lower. Jaskier grips the sheets in tight fists as Geralt licks him. He feels the other take his head into his mouth and lets out a breathy moan. He can feel him hard against his leg and makes a point of rubbing at it. Geralt moans around him and pulls back. 

“Tease.” 

“I want you to feel good too.” 

“I do. Jask.” His voice is rough, gravely with desire. “Can I?” He glances at the bottle of oil on the nightstand. Jaskier swallows, but nods. 

Geralt takes his time warming the oil on his fingers and Jaskier is grateful. Slowly the larger man sinks down again, kissing his flesh. His breath hitches as one finger tentatively rests at his entrance. There's a moment of panic and Geralt must sense it because he doesn't move. Jaskier fists the sheets again, swallows, 

“I'm okay, just, Slowly. Please Geralt.” It comes out tight, his breathing shallow. He gets a kiss on his thigh. Instantly he misses the warmth around his cock. 

“Geralt.” He whines, and it's understood for what it is. Hot breath ghosts against his aching member and then a tongue darts out to trace a vein. One finger slips inside, and he manages to stay relaxed enough that Geralt moves it, curling it and moving it slowly in and out. His cock head is taken into the others mouth again as a second finger is added. He does tense now. And the other coaxes him through it, pulling away and whispering against his ear, 

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

“I'm sorry.” Geralt stills completely for the umpteanth time. 

“Do you want me to stop?” A shake of his head. He looks the other in the eye. 

“Why are you sorry?” He says leaning forward and kissing away the tears at the corner of the bard's eye. 

“I feel bad, Making you wait. You shouldn't have to tell me I'm safe when I'm like this here with you.”

The witcher laughs softly and kisses his cheek. 

“Don’t. I don’t mind. You're trying and that's more than enough.” He curled his fingers again and Jaskier gasped as they brushed along his prostate. 

“Ge- Geralt.” He arched his back, “Again,” So the witcher does as he's told, and Jaskier molds like clay in the hands of a master. After a while Geralt adds a final finger and continues preparing his lover. Jaskier was almost gone enough that he didn’t notice it. He definitely didn’t tense, which was a very good sign. He panted in breathy little moans as Geralt teased at his nipples and his entrance. 

“Can I keep going?” 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t even open his eyes, just grabbed blindly for Geralt's shoulders when the other man leaned down to kiss him. He felt the warmth of the others' arousal at his entrance and purposefully moved his legs further apart, locking them on his back. Geralt kissed him again, long and deep and what a wonderful distraction that was. He gasped into it still. The witcher moved with a readiness to stop if that was what needed to happen. Jaskier gasped for air as the other finally bottomed out. Finally he opened his eyes and looked at his partner. He slid his left hand down the others arm and purposefully tugged his hand up. He tangled their fingers together beside his head and turned his head so he could look at them. He rocked his hips up, and the two fell into a familiar rhythm. 

Geralt never asked for his hand back, it wasn’t the most convenient but he didn’t care. It was a life line. He felt the other lift his hips a bit with one hand and used his heels to help them adjust. Geralt kissed his neck again and he felt the pace pick up. He tightened his ankles around the others back and didn’t hold back the sounds that came out of him as the other hit his prostate with practiced precision. He met gold eyes and lifted his head for a kiss. It seared, but he didn’t pull away as he lowered his other hand between them to where his own member lay hot and heavy, forgotten between them. He timed his motion to those of Geralts above him, the other grunted as he moved, putting as much force behind the act as he dared. 

“Geralt, Please.” He managed to choke out coherently, despite the fact that he couldn't think, couldn’t see anything but white light behind his eyes with every rock and jerk of their hips and his hand. It wasn’t long before he came on their stomachs, shuddering, body tensing all the way to his toes, his walls closing tightly around the cock buried inside him. Geralt couldn’t have removed himself had he wanted to, it happened so fast. His own seed spilled inside as he helped Jaskier ride out his orgasm. Jaskier let his head fall back against the pillows face red from exertion, hair plastered to his forehead sticky with sweat. He didn’t release Geralt from the hold he had on him, not yet. He wanted to remember. He forced his eyes open as fingers brushed hair away from his face. 

“Jask, my hands going numb.” He flushed, releasing it. Then he rolled his eyes, because of course Geralt would say something and break the moment. He wasnt angry though, instead he smiled fondly as Geralt rolled to the side and then pulled him close. 

“Still okay?” Well, wasn’t Geralt full of surprises today. Maybe he had thought about this just as much as he had. 

‘Yes.” he replied breathlessly. “Yes. Thank you.” Tears welled in his eyes again, unbidden and he couldn’t hold them back. He leaned further into Geralt's shoulder and cried. 

“Jask?” The sheer amount of worry in his lovers voice is what made him look up.

“Im okay. I promise, I just. I” He tried to calm his breathing but couldn't. Instead he leaned forward and brushed his lips over Geralts. “ I feel so many things right now. Mostly I’m relieved, and I’m happy.” 

The nod he received came slowly, but as he managed to bring his crying to a halt the wariness left Geralt's eyes entirely and he was pulled closer than before. 

“I think we should sleep. We can clean up in the morning.” Jaskier simply muscled himself as close as possible and listened to the steady rhythm of the Geralt's heart, in reply. 

In that moment, he realized something very important. Something that he knew would see him through to the end of his days. Home wasn’t a place, for him it was a person. And he had the power to choose that person, or persons as it would turn out. He smiled, for him, home was Geralt and Geralt was safe.


End file.
